Fall From Grace
by Harikari
Summary: Changes and tragedies bring Ron and Draco closer together. But a new relationship isn't all the adventure they're in for. Slash.
1. Prologue

Fall From Grace  
by Harikari

Pairing/Characters: Ron/Draco, Ensemble  
Rating: Teen (possibly Mature in later parts)  
Warnings: Violence, strong language, American English, angst, etc.  
Disclaimer: Don't own em'. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm writing this for fun, not profit.

Summary: Changes and tragedies bring Ron and Draco closer together. But a new relationship isn't all the adventure they're in for.

**--**

**Prologue**

A lot of surprising, unexpected, and horrible things had happened to Ron during his nearly eighteen years of life. When he was very young his twin brothers, Fred and George, had turned his teddy bear into a huge, prickly spider. At eleven years old, on the first day of his first year at Hogwarts he'd befriended Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

Being almost eaten by giant arachnids, getting dragged into the Forbidden Forest by a Grimm who later turned out to be Harry's godfather, coming face to face with a group of deadly Death Eaters while inside the Ministry of Magic...these were only a few of the things the youngest Weasley brother had gone through during his years at the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

So, he guessed, he shouldn't have been surprised when he spotted his best friend standing just outside of Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour snogging with his other best friend, Hermione. The girl he was sure he loved.

All summer Ron had been working a few hours a day at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Fred and George's joke shop. The twins had opened the shop after they'd bailed from school in the midst of their seventh year and had been doing quite well ever since. That summer, the summer before Ron's own seventh year, the twins had offered him a job. Ron, glad at the thought of having a bit of extra money in his pocket and needing the work experience (he hadn't done as well as he would've liked on his OWLs), had accepted immediately.

And so it happened that one day, about a week before the start of classes, instead of doing what he usually did and hurrying home by way of floo powder right after work Ron decided he'd like to take a walk around Diagon Alley. He felt he needed the fresh air. And purchasing the schoolbooks and supplies he would need for the coming year wasn't so bad an idea either.

He'd been strolling along the Alley, puzzling over his school list, when he'd seen them. Hermione was wrapped in Harry's arms, and the two were kissing.

It shouldn't have surprised him. Him. Ron Weasley who'd overcome many obstacles and who'd been a part to many adventures throughout the years. But it had.

He'd simply stood still and stared at them for a moment, his mouth open in shock and his hands rolled into fists. He hadn't known how to react to what he was seeing. How to feel.

Should he be happy for them? Harry had been so devastated after fifth year. After Cho and Sirius. The Boy Who Lived had trudged around Hogwarts sixth year in a severely depressed state. It was a lucky thing that Voldemort and his followers had stayed in the shadows that year. Ron didn't think Harry could've survived a misadventure.

Should he be angry? The redhead, though he hadn't had the guts to admit it to anyone yet, liked Hermione. She was just so pretty, so smart... He'd always believed that they would end up together. He'd always believed that Hermione liked him back.

Apparently not.

When his two best friends had broken their embrace Ron had spun and walked, quickly, in the opposite direction.

Absentmindedly stuffing the now unimportant school list into his pocket, he'd decided that he wasn't mad because they were together. He was mad because they hadn't told him. Hadn't told him, like he wasn't part of the circle of friends. Like he was an outsider. Like he didn't matter.

As he'd entered the twins shop and grabbed a handful of floo powder Ron had decided seeing his friends snogging in the middle of the street was the most shocking thing he'd witnessed so far. He suspected not even You-Know-Who himself, appearing out of thin air in front of him and wielding a wand, could be more shocking.

He had _no_ idea...


	2. One

**One**

"Thank you," said Pansy, not sounding grateful at all. "I can handle my own luggage." Draco didn't protest. The girl grabbed the trunk he had been trying to lug into the empty compartment and began struggling with it herself.

Draco sighed and took a seat next to the window. Normally, when Pansy talked to him in such a way he'd bite back with a nasty remark. _Normally,_ he thought, _I wouldn't even be trying to help her with her trunk_.

But Draco said nothing. Instead, he gazed out the window at the mass of students who were chatting, carrying luggage and boarding the train. He spotted Ron Weasley standing beside his similarly redheaded sister and was in the middle of sneering at them when Pansy sat down next to him.

He tensed. What was she doing? He certainly hadn't expected her to sit next to him. Was she thinking of making up with him? The blond didn't think he could handle it if that was the case. In fact, he felt it only fitting that the pug-faced Slytherin girl had been acting the way she had.

It was understandable, the way she was acting made sense. Draco didn't _want_ to be forgiven. He didn't deserve to be forgiven.

Chancing a sidelong glance, he saw that Pansy was staring straight ahead. So that was it. She didn't want to have to sit across from him. She didn't want to have to look in his direction, didn't want to have to look at _him_ all the way to Hogsmeade.

Draco's shoulders slumped. He took another look out the window and saw that the Weasel and his sister were gone.

After a moment of quiet, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a newspaper clipping. It was from the front page of last weeks Daily Prophet issue.

He unfolded and smoothed out the article. It was severely creased and wrinkled and looked as if it was ready to fall apart. Draco thought he'd probably read it a hundred times over. He'd memorized every word.

Pansy shifted nervously beside him and, suddenly, he could feel the heat of her gaze. She was watching him. He ignored her.

His eyes roamed over the prominent black and white picture of a tall, blond, sharp-faced man in his forties before reaching the all too familiar words:

**MALFOY GOES ON KILLING SPREE**

_Lucius Malfoy, 43, who was revealed to be a Death Eater two years ago and sentenced to life in Azkaban, escaped from the prison last night and was declared dead, along with his wife Narcissa Malfoy and family friends Peter and Sally Parkinson, early this morning inside Malfoy Manor. Authorities stated they have reason to believe both Mrs. Malfoy and the Parkinsons were killed by Malfoy because they had joined an organization working against the interests of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. A thorough investigation of the murders is being conducted. No other details were released by authorities. The Parkinsons leave behind a daughter, seventeen-year-old Pansy Parkinson. The Malfoy's leave a son, seventeen-year-old Draco Malfoy. Both Pansy and Draco are currently preparing for their seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and were not available for comment. _

Draco's lips moved as he read the last few words of the article. He ran slim fingers over the small picture of his mother, Narcissa Malfoy, looking superior and regal. In the picture the blond woman kept patting at her hair and sitting up straighter. His eyes were roaming over the equally small pictures of Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson when the article was suddenly snatched away by a furious Pansy.

She crumbled up the newspaper clipping and stuffed it into her own pocket. Draco was opening his mouth to protest when he heard Blaise Zabini's voice coming from right outside of the compartment.

He shut his mouth.

He could hear Blaise's raucous laughter and Crabbe and Goyle mumbling something. Next came the sound of Millicent Bulstrode - she was laughing even more violently than Blaise.

Pansy was tense. She was gripping her seat so tightly her nails were digging into the material. What was she trying to do? Hide the headline? It was unlikely... No, it was _impossible_ their fellow seventh year Slytherins didn't already know that Narcissa and the Parkinsons were traitors to the Dark Lord. Or that they _had_ been traitors...when they were alive.

The familiar voices faded into the distance. Pansy sighed and sunk back into her seat. She closed her eyes.

Draco knew the relief wouldn't last. Sooner or later (more likely sooner) he and Pansy would come face to face with the other Slytherins. Draco didn't fancy imagining what would happen then. He knew it wasn't going to be good.

"Maybe we should change into our robes now," said Pansy, breaking the silence. She stood and went over to the trunk she'd stuffed into a corner of the small compartment. After some shuffling she managed to retrieve one of her school robes. Before pulling on the robe she spared Draco a glance, her eyes narrowed in what now seemed to be ever present contempt. And why not?

"Well? Aren't you going to put on your robes?"

The blond teen blinked. "Robes? Oh. Yes, I will." But Draco didn't move from his seat.

Pansy shrugged and pulled the dark robe she was holding on over her clothes. She sat back down next to Draco.

With a loud whistle, the train started up. Platform nine and three-quarters was left behind, and Pansy's hand strayed to where the clipping was crammed into her pocket.

But she didn't take it out. And she didn't give it back.

* * *

"So. Do you believe it?"

Hermione dropped the fork she'd been eating with onto her nearly empty plate and pushed the food away. They were sitting in the Great Hall. The sorting was finished, Dumbledore had made his usual beginning of year speech and now students were finishing up their dinners or eagerly awaiting dessert. "I mean, it was in the Daily Prophet. We know from personal experience that their news can be less than...reliable."

"Yeah," replied Harry. "But why would they lie about this? We got them to admit that Voldemort was back after what happened fifth year." He paused, as if trying to compose himself. He was probably thinking of Sirius.

"The reason they were trying to keep Voldemort's return under wraps was to prevent a panic. And writing about Lucius Malfoy the Death Eater escaping from Azkaban, committing multiple murders and then killing himself isn't exactly something they would write about if they were still trying to prevent one."

"True," replied Hermione, not sounding entirely convinced.

Ron was trying not to look at her. He was trying not to notice how nice her hair looked, or how the necklace she was wearing (though obviously cheap costume jewelry) complimented her eyes. He was trying not to notice how both Hermione and Harry were sitting across from him; how very close they were sitting.

He wasn't doing too swell a job of not noticing.

"So you believe the Prophet, Harry?" asked Hermione. "You think..." She trailed off before leaning closer to Harry. Her voice was a whisper when she next spoke. "You think Narcissa _Malfoy_ was a good guy? Er...lady?"

Neither Harry nor Ron had an answer to that. The trio turned to the Slytherin table. The members of their rival House were all there. Crabbe and Goyle were chuckling loudly at something a tall, dark haired boy was saying. Ron couldn't quite remember the teen's name. Was it Blaise Something-Or-Other? Draco Malfoy was off to the side, poking at his food with a fork and looking superior.

_Prat,_ thought Ron before turning away.

But once he'd turned away he wished he hadn't. Hermione had casually encircled her fingers with Harry's. They were - albeit loosely - holding hands.

_They haven't said a thing to me yet. Why haven't they told me they're together? Are they afraid I'll be upset?_

Feeling suddenly sick, Ron stood. And just as he did the dinner plates and dishes disappeared from the House tables. They were quickly replaced with various delicious desserts. A first year Ravenclaw squealed in delight.

"Ron? What's wrong? Where are you going?" Hermione seemed then to realize that she was holding Harry's hand. She tore her own hand from the grip quickly.

"Just tired. You won't mind leading the first years to the dorms yourself will you Herm? Being Head Girl and all, I think you can handle it." At this, Ron fiddled with the Prefect badge decorating his robe. He most definitely didn't want to wait around just to lead some kids to the Gryffindor Tower.

He glanced at the small pack of eleven year olds sitting at the other end of the table. Had he _really_ been that young once?

"Okay Ron," Hermione agreed, giving him a measuring look.

"You've been kind of quiet, Ron. You all right?" Harry said this while giving him a very similar look.

"I'm fine," answered the redhead. He shrugged. "I mean, I would _tell_ you if something were up. You know. Because friends don't keep things from friends. No matter what it is."

With that, he flashed a smile and walked away.

He never saw the nervous glances Hermione and Harry exchanged.

* * *

Usually, it wasn't until Dumbledore himself had dismissed them that the students would leave the Great Hall and head for their dorms. Ron didn't care. Hermione could handle leading the first years up, no Professors had spotted him taking his leave and he couldn't stand another minute of watching Harry and Hermione's subtle flirting.

Thinking that perhaps he would take a quick peek at his schoolbooks (apparently Hermione had managed to rub off on him a bit) and pin up his new Chudly Cannons poster, Ron ascended the marble staircase that led down into the entrance hall and started toward his House.

He was attempting to remember which classes he had signed up for that both Harry and Hermione were in with him (he really didn't want to have to deal with their lovey-dovey crud all the time) when he tripped.

"Aw shi-" He landed hard. He lost his breath and took a moment to catch it. Noticed a slight pain in his right knee.

"I know you're a stupid oaf, Weasel," said a voice close to him. The owner of the legs he had just tripped over. "But I was fairly certain you had at least mastered the difficult art of _walking_."

Ron raised his head to see Draco Malfoy leaning against the stone wall. The blond was smirking.

"Oh," managed the dazed redhead. "It's you."


	3. Two

--

**Two **

Wincing at the throbbing pain in his right knee, Ron stood. Then he glared down at the seventh year Slytherin, barely containing a snarl. Malfoy was still smirking. He was sitting and leaning against the stone wall, his legs stretched out in front of him. Tendrils of his blond hair were sticking out at odd angles and, though Ron was certainly no expert on what Malfoy _looked_ like he thought the teen's face was unusually flushed and his eyes unusually red.

_How did he get here so fast? Wasn't he just sitting at his House table in the Great Hall?_

Ron almost groaned. The Slytherin must have slipped away while he was busy watching Harry and Hermione grasp hands.

He didn't want to think about that. At all. So he took the anger that rose up at the thought of his two friends together and aimed it -- along with the already abundant supply of anger he'd always had for the boy -- at Malfoy.

"Prick. Watch where you're...sitting." Okay. So his verbal sparring skills were not the best. But he was tall and he had gained muscle over the years. So his advantage when it came to _physical_ sparring was pretty big. If it ever came to blows with Malfoy, Ron would have the smaller Slytherin beat before they even started fighting. Still glaring at the blond, Ron figured the boy had probably beat out Harry for position of shortest boy in seventh year.

Harry would be pleased to hear that. Ron decided not to tell his friend about his observation...at least not right away.

Malfoy's calm demeanor suddenly disappeared. His eyes narrowed. "Why don't you watch where _you're walking_, Weasel?"

Ron fought the urge to pummel the Slytherin. Right there, right then. "What are you doing out here, anyway? Everyone is supposed to be in the Great Hall."

Looking furious and his fingers moving towards the shiny prefect badge pinned on his robe, the platinum haired teen opened his mouth to reply. He was probably going to point out that Ron too was wandering the halls while he was supposed to be in the Great Hall eating dessert. And he was probably going to point out that he, like Ron was a prefect. He was probably going to tell the redhead to go straight to hell.

Ron never had to think up a response to any of those things, however, because before Malfoy spoke Pansy Parkinson came charging up the marble staircase, her shoes clicking loudly on the floor. She brushed by Ron to stand at the blond's side. She looked livid.

"I thought you had gone to the dorms. What are you doing here? The feast will be finished any minute and we have to be in our dorms. We have to be asleep, Draco." She didn't even seem to notice the Gryffindor standing next to her. She bent and tugged at Malfoy's arm insistently. After a few tugs Malfoy, now looking just as livid as Pansy, spoke up.

"Let go of me. Don't touch me." His voice was low and deadly.

Pansy let go of the blond's arm very suddenly. It was as if she'd been shocked. As if she'd just discovered he was covered in toxic waste. "Fine," she said. "Just hurry and get to bed."

With that, she turned and walked away.

Ron, not entirely sure what he had just witnessed going on between the two Slytherins, watched as Malfoy stood. The teenager leaned against the wall for a moment. He looked tired. He took a step and faltered, lost his balance.

Without thinking Ron reached out and steadied the blond. He had time to look into startled gray eyes and to notice how odd it felt to be grasping the narrow and very human shoulder of his enemy before Malfoy shrugged him off and stalked away.

_Strange,_ thought the youngest Weasley brother as he stared after the Slytherin. _Really strange._

He headed for his House.

--

Draco stayed a few feet behind Pansy as they walked. They had reached the school dungeons and were now headed towards the stretch of bare, damp stone wall that was the entrance to the Slytherin House. It was quiet all around them. The blond could hear the echo that the tapping of the seventh year girl's heeled shoes against the floor produced.

Draco rubbed at his right shoulder. The shoulder Ron had grabbed. He knew it hadn't been on purpose. He knew that if Ron had thought about it for an instant, if he hadn't acted on pure instinct the redhead would have let him fall. It was that stupid hero mentality. The Weasel had spent entirely too much time with Harry Potter throughout the years.

Pansy glanced back at him and he paused in his shoulder rubbing. When she looked away, he started up again.

It had felt odd, when he and the Weasel had made contact. Like something had...clicked.

Draco snorted. _More like something broke. Looking at that ugly mug of his probably impaired my sanity or something._

They reached the stretch of wall. Pansy spat out the password (venomous) and the common room was revealed. For a brief and stupid second Draco wondered how she knew the password. Then he recalled that Pansy too had been appointed a prefect back in fifth year. And she had, unlike him, gone to the prefect meeting that had taken place during the train ride to Hogwarts earlier that day.

"Let's go to bed," said the girl as soon as the entrance had closed back up. She moved in the direction of the girl's dorms.

Draco stood his ground. He studied Pansy, noticing how pale and exhausted she looked. She seemed sick. Hell, she _was_ sick. Sick with worry about what the other Slytherins would do when they finally got their hands on the two children of the traitors. She was trying to hide from them and avoid them.

She was delaying the inevitable.

Draco decided to let that particular issue drop for now.

Instead, he wanted to know why Pansy had sat with him in the train -- he thought he had resolved that, but considering her latest actions apparently not -- and why she had searched him out when he'd slipped away from the Great Hall. After what had happened to Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson how could the girl stand being near him? Why had she gone stomping around the school looking for him so he also could avoid the wrath of their Housemates for a bit longer?

He had to know.

"Pansy," he said softly.

The girl stopped climbing the stairs that led up to the dorms and tensed. Obviously, she knew this latest conversation would not be pleasant.

"Yes?"

"Why did you search me out and lead me back here just now? After... Pansy. After what happened. After what happened with your parents-"

"Don't _you _talk about my parents!" snapped the girl, cutting off Draco's question. "You don't deserve to talk about them you...you stupid prat!" Her voice was loud and violent. Her eyes flashed with anger.

Abruptly and with envy Draco recalled all of the loving and adoring looks Pansy had shot his way throughout the years. He could hardly believe he'd once thought those looks to be annoying. Troublesome.

"I know! I know I don't deserve to talk about them, okay? I also know I don't deserve _you_ willing to be anywhere near _me_. Why are you doing it, Pansy? I know you hate me. Don't you hate me?"

His voice broke a little. He sounded desperate and on the verge of tears. He hated sounding like that. He was an aristocrat. He was pure-blooded, a Slytherin. His father had raised him to be-

Draco stopped that train of thought. His father didn't matter anymore.

A few tears were falling down Pansy's cheeks now. When she next spoke her voice was low, but clear and harsh. "I hate you, Draco Malfoy. I hate you more than anything or anyone I've ever hated before. I probably hate you more than the Dark Lord himself hates muggles and mudbloods. But our parents are gone and everyone knows our secrets now. You're all I've got."

She paused for a moment. Breathed a shaky breath.

"I'll never forgive you and I don't like being around you, so don't flatter yourself. You told me, after the murders, that you were sorry and that you would do _anything_. You told me you would even die for me... When things get bad, when the other Slytherins are about ready to hand us over to the Dark Lord on silver platters I intend to take you up on that offer. Are you happy? Is that enough of an answer for you?"

Numb inside, Draco nodded.

Pansy continued up the stairs.

So that was it. He had promised he'd die for her to make things up to her and that's what she wanted.

She'd have a dead Draco and a sheild against the other Slytherins to boot.

Draco went up to his bed. Just before he fell into a restless sleep he was assaulted with the image of Ron's eyes looking into his own, with the phantom feeling of a strong hand on his shoulder.


	4. Three

FALL FROM GRACE  
  
Author: Nox (goddessnoxhotmail.com)  
  
A/N: I'm sooo sorry! I think it's been over a month since I last updated. I have good excuses, though! My computer is extremely screwed up right now, and I started working an 8 to 5 job for the summer! But you guys don't want to hear about that! You want the story! Well, here it is after much editing and rewriting (I kind of lost the first draft and had to redo it all)! I hope you enjoy! And thanks a bunch to those who reviewed the last chap, and to those who have put me on their fav or alert list!!! You all rule!! ; )  
  
THREE:  
  
It was a long while before Ron had the opportunity to ask Malfoy what the episode in the hallway with Pansy had been about. The first week of classes came and went quickly and the occupants of Hogwarts, again, fell into routine.  
  
Snape proceeded to shoot as many venomous comments as was possible Harry's way, Hermione busied herself with schoolwork, Ron busied himself with avoiding schoolwork (a difficult task, considering it was seventh year), and the Slytherins roamed the halls bullying any unfortunate non-Slytherin who crossed their path.  
  
The year seemed to be flowing along nicely. Nicely, that is, with the exception of the underlying tense feeling that seemed to be overtaking the school. Nothing had happened. No Voldermort, no Sirius Black fiasco . . . The year was turning out to be just as calm as the one before. And while calm and normal were usually wonderful things, they only bred apprehension and fear while a recently risen, highly powerful, muggle-hating maniac was on the loose. The majority of the descent wizarding world had enough sense to realize that, while the calm resided, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was most probably not sitting on his hands. He was planning something.  
  
Harry, Hermione and Ron were all pretty sure that this "something" everyone was privately worrying over had already begun. During the first few weeks of classes the trio avidly read the Daily Prophet, but there was no more news about Lucius Malfoy's murdering spree, or about anything else out of the ordinary. The three friends also kept a closer eye than usual on the Slytherins, but other than the fact that both Draco and Pansy had seemingly lost their positions as figurative King and Queen of their House, the Slytherins continued to act like the nasty gits they were. No better. No worse.  
  
"...Right?" Ron blinked. He was sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. Harry and Hermione, who were sitting directly across from him, were giving him concerned looks. Well, Harry looked slightly concerned. Hermione looked more mad.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I said tonight's going to be the last Halloween feast we'll ever attend at Hogwarts. It's a bit sad, isn't it?" The redhead tried not to roll his eyes. With graduation nigh, Hermione seemed to be thinking of every moment of the school year as a sentimental one. Ron, with the exception of the friends he'd made, had decided he'd gladly forget everything about his past few years at the Wizarding School. He figured he could do without memories of gigantic spiders, werewolves, and those invisible (to him, at least) thestral things.  
  
"Yeah," he replied. "Sad." He noticed the half-eaten piece of toast he was holding and took a bite.  
  
From across the table, Harry frowned in the redhead's direction. It wasn't often that Ron Weasley passed up the chance for an argument, most especially an argument with Hermione.   
  
Ron had been acting a bit off all school year. In fact, Ron was giving Harry a very odd look right now...Catching himself, Harry grabbed at a glass of orange juice with the hand he'd been inching towards Hermione.   
  
"I guess we should get to class," said Hermione, shouldering her heavy-looking school bag. Harry stood and also grabbed his bag, but Ron didn't move.  
  
Hermione frowned. "We'll be late if we don't hurry. What is it Ron?"  
  
"Just give me a second," replied Ron, studying the nearly-finished bit of toast he held. "Do you realize this will be the last piece of toast I'll eat before I go to our last Care of Magical Creatures class before our last Halloween feast? I think I need a moment of-"  
  
Hermione smacked the back of Ron's head, and Harry lost the suspicious glint in his eye.  
  
Draco wished his fellow Slytherins would get it over with and kill him already.  
  
"Bloody hell!" The seventeen-year-old bit at his bottom lip and resisted the urge to grab at the shoe his stubbed toe was encased in and hop around on one foot. He'd been pacing around the common room, pulling at the sleeves of his white, collared shirt (he'd decided against wearing his robe to the Halloween feast), and the tip of his foot had collided with the leg of a chair. He glared at the offending piece of furniture before resuming his pacing.  
  
/Pansy is taking forever./ He shot a withering look at the stairs leading up to the girl's dormitory. What could be taking her so long? He was sure that not even Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, the two divas of the school, took this long getting ready.  
  
"Pansy?" he tried. He waited a second.   
  
No answer. That could mean two things. It could mean that the girl hadn't heard him, or that she wasn't there. But where else would she be?   
  
/Anywhere. Anywhere that isn't with the person who reminds her constantly of her parent's death./ Pushing the morbid thought out of his mind, Draco strained his neck to see around the bend in the stairs leading to the girl's dorms. He certainly wasn't going to try and go up there. Snape had spells set up to prevent that sort of thing.   
  
The teen bit at his bottom lip some more, not noticing he was doing it until he tasted the coppery substance that was blood. He sighed. The damn lip thing had become a nervous habit. He'd started to do it right after the murders...  
  
"Pansy?" Perhaps she'd decided to break their tradition of "staying together". All year the girl had been at his side. She'd been his constant companion since the episode that Ron had witnessed on the stairs. An angry and pushy companion, but one nonetheless.  
  
Draco was grateful for her.  
  
Instead of the immediate torture, humiliation, and out and out killing the two "traitors" had expected to be subjected to in the beginning of the school year, there had been nothing. The other Slytherins had kept their distance. With the exception of some biting comments, heated looks, and the obvious de-throning as "leaders" of their House (Draco had been replaced, apparently, by that prat Blaise Zabini), both Pansy and Draco had been completely and totally ignored. Anyone else might've been relieved and overjoyed. Draco and Pansy, who'd been raised in the dark presence of Voldermort worshipers, were nervous.  
  
And lonely.   
  
They both had been popular and important figures at Hogwarts for six years. Now they'd been forced into the background. "Pansy?" called out Draco. When there was no reply the blonde decided he should probably get to the feast. The girl was probably already there, sitting at the end of the Slytherin table and nibbling at her food.  
  
Draco didn't understand the sudden pain in his heart. It wasn't as if they'd planned to walk together to the feast or anything. It wasn't as if Pansy was betraying him by no longer acting like one of his best friends.  
  
He was so stupid. She'd been stuck to his side all year. Classes, free time, meals...he and Pansy had been doing everything together. The girl had probably grown sick of him.  
  
It was surprising their unhappy companionship had lasted as long as it had.  
  
Taking a last look around the common room, Draco spun and headed for the Great Hall.  
  
"Stupid Flitwick."  
  
Ron grumbled and cursed as he trudged through dim hallways and up familiar stairways. His fist was tight around the strap of the patchy school bag he was dragging behind him.  
  
He couldn't believe it. Little Flitwick had kept him after class. Flitwick! And on Halloween!  
  
It turned out even the charms Professor got upset when his students burst out laughing in the middle of important lectures.  
  
Ron hadn't been able to help himself. Seamus could really tell a good vampire joke. Man, the way he'd changed his voice when he was describing that whole wooden stake thing...  
  
The redhead stumbled, but caught himself before falling.  
  
Alphabetizing all those charm books for Flitwick had exhausted him. He glanced at the wristwatch Hermione had given him last Christmas. It wasn't too late. Everyone would be at the feast already, but it would be going on for quite a while.  
  
Maybe he'd catch a quick nap before eating. And if he ended up sleeping through the feast... Well, he wasn't Hermione. He most definitely wouldn't be heartbroken about it.  
  
Having decided what he wanted to do, Ron slightly altered his course and headed for the Gryffindor Tower.  
  
He made it there fairly quickly, mumbled the password to a dozing Fat Lady, and stepped into a deserted common room.  
  
He threw his bag in the general direction of the seats where he, Harry, and Hermione usually did their studying (he knew for a fact that no one would bother to steal his threadbare school bag and his tons of unfinished homework) then headed up to his bed.  
  
Just as he was reaching for the knob of the door that led into the seventh year boy's dormitory, the redhead heard an exclamation of surprise. Or maybe it had been fear? Either way, it sounded a lot like Harry. Ron pulled his wand from its usual place in his pocket and listened closely, his ear against the door.  
  
There was a moment of nothing, then gasping. Or panting. Probably Harry having another one of his Voldermort nightmares. But why would the bespectacled boy be sleeping now, when he was supposed to be at the feast?  
  
Nervous, his heart pounding, the youngest Weasley brother gripped his wand tightly. He turned the knob and pushed open the door.   
  
It took him a few moments to realize exactly what it was he was seeing.  
  
Harry and Hermione were on Harry's bed. Hermione was very nearly in Harry's lap. Their arms were wrapped around each other. They were kissing. Kissing very, very heatedly. Spit, and tongues, and everything. The sound of Ron's wand hitting the floor, having been dropped from suddenly loose fingers, brought their snogging to a stop.  
  
It seemed as if the world was moving in slow motion for a moment. Harry and Hermione turned to stare at him. It took a second before their eyes got wide and their mouths got wider in surprise. Hermione, relinquishing her hold on Harry, hopped up. She ran nervous hands over her wrinkled robe. Her mouth moved. Her mouth opened and closed. But she couldn't seem to form any words.  
  
Harry snapped out of his stupor first. "Ron." He opened his mouth to say more. To explain.   
  
Ron didn't listen. The anger and the hurt he'd been repressing all school year had suddenly sprung to the surface. Tears began to pool in his eyes and his hands began to shake. His head hurt, and his heart hurt, and he felt nauseous. Ron didn't wait for Harry to explain. He didn't need Harry to explain. His best friend was going out with the girl he loved. The girl he loved was in love with his best friend. And the two people he trusted most in the world had kept something from him. The redhead didn't need to listen to anybody, or wait for anybody to explain. He understood perfectly.  
  
Ron turned and ran.  
  
Pansy hadn't been in the Great Hall. Draco had taken his now usual seat, which was a good distance away from any of the other seventh year Slytherins, and had managed to force down a glass of pumpkin juice before worry forced him up and out of the noisy, decorated Hall.  
  
He'd noticed that Millicent Bullstrode and a few other sixth and seventh year Slytherin girls besides Pansy were missing from the House table, and that didn't bode well.  
  
He'd gone back to the Slytherin House first, just in case, but she wasn't there. Draco's stomach had clenched with fear when he'd seen that none of the other girls that had been missing from the House table were there either. Next, he'd wandered around peaking into empty classrooms, hoping to catch a glimpse of the pug-faced girl. But she was nowhere to be found.  
  
The platinum-haired teen was on the second floor peering behind a statue of a goblin when he felt hands grab the back of his shirt. He was slammed, face first, into the wall. His forehead took the brunt of the hit. He felt something warm and wet running down his face before he was roughly spun around.  
  
Crabbe, who now had a bruising grip on his right shoulder, had done the slamming. Blaise was smirking like an asshole, Goyle and a huge sixth year Slytherin Draco had forgotten the name of flanking him.   
  
"Looking for someone?" Draco was sure that Blaise's mocking, self-important, smug little sneer was about a hundred times more annoying than his own.  
  
The blonde didn't answer right away. He didn't know how to answer. Should he play it cool? Should he act innocent, like he didn't know why in the hell his long-time companions looked like they wanted to tear him to pieces?  
  
"Where's Pansy, asshole?" Smooth. Real smooth.  
  
Crabbe squeezed his arm a little tighter. Snarling, Blaise punched him in the gut. Draco doubled over, gasping. The only thing that held him up was the beefy fist wrapped around his forearm.  
  
"Don't worry about her, Malfoy. That little dog-faced bitch is with her old friends. Just like you're with us." Blaise turned and mumbled something to the sixth year.  
  
While Zabini talked, Draco studied the four Slytherins through lowered lashes. They were all big. Even Zabini was huge. He wasn't at all like Draco, who had actually needed his bodyguards.  
  
/I can't take them. No way. Not unless I can get to my wand./ He could feel the comforting weight of his wand in his back pocket. He wondered if he could get to it before-  
  
His thoughts came to a halt when Blaise stopped his mumbling and turned back to Draco. The dark-haired teen didn't say anything. He just eyed the blonde before launching his fist, again, at the still-hurting stomach. He laughed when Goyle's grip proved to not be enough to hold up all of Malfoy's weight, and the boy fell to his knees.  
  
"Oh, almost forgot." He leaned heavily on one of the kneeling Draco's shoulders with one hand while grabbing at the wand lodged into the blonde teen's back pocket with the other. Draco simultaneously ignored, and hoped he was imagining the slight brush Blaise's hand gave his backside before finally retrieving the wand.  
  
"Let's go." At Blaise's words Goyle came forward and grabbed Draco's left arm and Crabbe, still at the blonde's side, again grabbed his right. Blaise strutted ahead and Draco's two former friends frog-walked him down the hallway. They all stopped in front of a closed, narrow door.   
  
Draco figured it was probably some sort of closet for supplies. Then he realized they were probably going to put him in the closet. Having finally recovered enough from the punches to speak, he looked up at Zabini. "Why did you wait until now?" he asked. "And why are you stuffing me in a closet, instead of finishing the job?"  
  
Blaise sneered that god-awful sneer. "I wanted you to know something was coming. I wanted you to get nervous as hell. And I'm not finishing the job because I want you and that Pansy bitch to suffer. I want to torture you both." He grinned, flashing white teeth.  
  
Crabbe and Goyle let go of Draco's arms. The sixth year Slytherin uttered the unlocking spell and the closet door flew open. The blonde was pushed in before he could even register the fact that the inside of the closet was made up of complete darkness. His hands, splayed out in front of him, hit the wall. His legs hit something soft. The door slammed shut behind him.  
  
"Rot in there, traitor!" There was hysterical laughter. Loud, at first. But after a moment it faded into the distance. They were gone.  
  
Draco blinked into the darkness. It did no good. It was night, the halls were dark, this closet was darker. There was no light for his eyes to adjust to. He could hear his own heart pounding in his ears. His breathing was harsh and unsteady. His legs felt like they'd give out any second. But he didn't let himself sink to the closet floor.  
  
Instead, he wondered why his hands had met wall when he'd been thrown in, but his legs had met something yielding and pliant. Like a body.   
  
Draco tried not to panic, but it was hard. Was there a body in here with him? Maybe a dead body? A body of an unfortunate student who'd been stuffed in here by his or her own enemies long ago?  
  
"Ohmygod, Ohmygod, Ohmygod." The blonde closed his eyes tightly, though it made no difference. His face felt sticky with drying blood that had fallen from the wound on his forehead. Perhaps he had a concussion. Perhaps he was imagining things.  
  
"Malfoy?" asked a voice. The voice seemed to come from somewhere slightly below Draco's waist area. The dead body, or apparently not-so-dead body, had spoken.  
  
Draco managed not to gasp in surprise. "W-Weasley?"  
  
There was a pause during which both of them were most likely attempting to figure out what exactly was going on.  
  
Ron coughed a nervous-sounding cough. "Malfoy," began the redhead, sounding very serious. Draco leaned closer to listen. "Is your crotch in my face?"  
  
Ron hadn't known where he was running. And when his side had begun to ache and his chest had begun to burn, he'd failed to remember why he was running.  
  
It wasn't as if he hadn't known about Harry and Hermione's relationship. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen them making out in Diagon Alley during summer break. So why was he running? Why hadn't he just told them that he'd already known? Why hadn't he just stayed and talked things out?  
  
Shortly after these doubts had assaulted him his mind had provided a near-perfect image of Hermione in Harry's lap. Their lips touching...Ron had growled. Okay, so that was why. Because he hated them. He hated them both.  
  
/Damn them./  
  
He'd reached the second floor when he'd heard Harry call his name from somewhere not too far off.   
  
They'd followed him.  
  
Ron had panicked. He didn't want to face Harry or Hermione. That's why he'd ran away. Didn't they understand?   
  
He'd darted behind a goblin statue before realizing that it was probably the most stupid hiding place anyone had thought of using in the history of wizard kind. His eyes had darted around. He'd spotted a door a little farther down the hall.  
  
Harry's voice was getting closer.  
  
Ron had sprinted to the door. He'd yanked it open, silently thanking Merlin that it was unlocked. He'd pulled the door closed and wiggled the knob just to make sure it was secure. Harry's voice was very close then. The redhead had held his breath.  
  
"Ron!" A yell right outside the door. A pause. "Ron!" Another yell, farther away. It had worked.  
  
The youngest Weasley brother had sighed in relief. He'd stayed put for a few minutes, listening to the sound of his own breathing. When he'd been sure that Harry was long gone, he'd felt around in the darkness for the knob, and pulled.  
  
Nothing had happened. He'd pulled again.  
  
/Shit,/ he'd thought. /I locked myself in./  
  
And he had. And he'd slid to the narrow closet's floor. His back against the wall and his long legs spread out in an almost V (the closet was to small to allow a full V) in front of him. He'd listened and waited. He'd realized that if Harry or Hermione happened to come by, he'd have to yell for help.  
  
/Wonderful,/ he'd thought, just before his increased exhaustion had overtaken him. He'd fallen asleep.  
  
Ron had been abruptly awakened when the closet door had flown open, only to admit another person into the crowded space, before shutting again.   
  
"Rot in there, traitor!" Someone had yelled this to the person who'd been pushed into the closet. The person had been standing. Ron had felt a presence just over his head.  
  
There had been a pause with only harsh breathing for a long moment before the person, sounding terrified, had spoken. "Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod," the person had said, and Ron had immediately recognized the voice.  
  
"Malfoy?" he'd asked.  
  
"W-Weasley?" had come the timid reply. Ron had then realized where exactly the voice was coming from. Then had remembered that Draco was standing. Then had remembered how short Draco was. /Oh,/ he'd thought. /Damn./  
  
"Malfoy," he'd said, in his no-nonsense voice. Draco had leaned closer then. He knew because his nose had brushed cloth. He'd moved his head back immediately. "Is your crotch in my face?"  
  
He'd asked a few seconds ago. He was now tense, trying to figure out what exactly was going on, and waiting for an answer. He really shouldn't have run.  
  
"What?!" That sounded like a sputter. Like Draco was shocked.  
  
"It is, isn't it?" Ron pushed as far back into the wall behind him as was possible. "Your crotch is in my face?" A pause. "Could you maybe move, ferret boy?"  
  
"Stupid git!" The reply was quick this time. The blonde sounded like his mean and viscous self. "This closet is tiny. What am I supposed to do?"  
  
Ron shrugged, even though he knew Draco couldn't see it. "Turn around?" He was more comfortable now that Draco was insulting him.  
  
A snort. "Oh, yes. That would work out well. Idiot Weasel. If I turn around my arse would be in your face! Besides, I'm leaning against the wall with my hands now. If I turn I'll have nowhere to lean."  
  
Ron blushed, glad that Draco couldn't see him. He was trying not to think about what the position they were in now looked like exactly, and was feeling like an imbecile for suggesting the small Slytherin turn around. "Oh. Right."  
  
"Can't you stand up?"  
  
"The halls are deserted. It's nighttime. It's Halloween. And it's Friday. I don't fancy standing up in here all night and weekend."  
  
Draco sounded angry. "Well neither do I! Most especially standing like this!" The blonde shifted his stance, and Ron felt the tip of a shoe brush against his thigh.  
  
The redhead frowned. His long legs, with the exception of a slight bend in both knees, were still spread out V-like in front of him. His back was still against the wall. He sighed.  
  
"Turn around."  
  
"What?!" Again with the sputter.  
  
"Turn around and slowly sit down. You can sit between my legs, and nothing will be in my face. Not even your hair, probably. Your so damn short."  
  
Draco muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "asshole", but did turn around. "Tell me if I sit on your head or something," said the blonde, not sounding like he'd be particularly sorry about it. "I can't see anything." His voice sounded slightly slurred.  
  
"Here," said Ron, not wanting to risk a traumatized head, before grabbing Malfoy's hips (still near the vicinity of his face), and pulling the boy down. Having been caught off guard, the blonde landed hard.  
  
Ron heard an "ouch" and was surprised when Draco didn't tell him off for the action. He sat ramrod straight while the blonde got himself situated. When he felt a slight weight against his chest, tendrils of hair under his chin, and the touch of legs lined up against his own (he noted with amusement that Draco's V-legs ended well before his own) he allowed himself to relax.   
  
/Great,/ he thought. /This is great./ So he was trapped, would possibly be trapped for three nights and two days, inside of a very small, dark closet with his arch nemesis. And Harry and Hermione, his two best friends, probably thought he was both a lunatic and a crybaby.  
  
Running out on them like that...It was no wonder why they'd decided not to tell him anything.  
  
"I know," said Draco suddenly, startling Ron from his thoughts. "Imbecile. Just cast Alohomora with your wand. Go on." His voice still sounded oddly slurred.  
  
Ron bared his teeth into the blackness. "Brilliant, Malfoy. Just one thing. I don't have my wand, genius. You really think I wouldn't have used it by now if I had it? You, me, a closet? It isn't on my list of 'things I really enjoy doing'."  
  
"You could've forgotten to use your wand. You are a big dullard, Weasel."  
  
Ron chose to ignore the comment. "What about you?" he asked. "Why don't you use your wand?"  
  
"They took it."  
  
"Oh." A pause. "They? They who?" There was no answer. Ron remembered the shout he'd heard right after Draco had been pushed into the closet and the door had closed. /Rot in there, traitor. That was it./ "It was the other Slytherins, wasn't it? Because your mum was a traitor?"  
  
"Shut up," breathed the blonde. "Shut up."  
  
Ron knew he'd guessed right. The Slytherins were now beating up on the children of the traitors. It was not surprising, though the redhead found it hard to imagine Crabbe and Goyle being hostile to Malfoy, of all people.  
  
He decided not to mention Malfoy's mother again. She'd been killed by her own husband, Malfoy's father, and Ron was pretty sure the blonde wouldn't fancy talking about her. Most especially not to him. He changed the subject. "Aren't you wondering why I'm in here?"  
  
A bored sigh. "Not really. As I said before, you're a real idiot. It's no surprise you got yourself locked in a closet."  
  
"Fine Malfoy, you prat."  
  
With that, it became quiet. And the quiet dragged on for what seemed like hours to Ron, but was probably only thirty minutes at the most. Draco's head kept dropping against the redhead's shoulder, as if the boy was falling asleep before quickly jerking himself awake. The youngest Weasley brother could feel the soft, platinum hair tickling his chin.  
  
"I walked in on Harry and Hermione kissing," Ron said suddenly, breaking the silence. He wasn't sure why he'd decided to tell Malfoy. He was either really bored or desperate for someone to talk to, considering he couldn't exactly talk to his best friends. And telling Malfoy didn't seem to be a problem. With the Slytherins beating up on him and the rest of the school pretty much completely ignoring him, he had no way to hold Ron's misfortunes over his head. Malfoy had no power.  
  
"What?! That's disgusting. I certainly don't want to hear about scar-head and that little bookworm, Weasel."   
  
Ron decided not to dwell on the fact that Malfoy hadn't used that awful mudblood word. He silently told himself that he did not believe that Malfoy's mother, nor Malfoy, had been fighting for the side of good. He silently told himself that he was not feeling sorry for Malfoy.  
  
"It wasn't the first time I saw them kissing. I saw them before classes started when I was looking for school stuff in Diagon Alley. It was still weird walking in on them. What sucks is that I knew that they were keeping it from me. They didn't even tell me."  
  
"The sons of bitches," said Draco. Ron couldn't tell if the other teen was being sarcastic, sympathetic, or if he was just glad at the chance to insult Harry and Hermione.  
  
"So when I saw them I ran. They followed. I hid in here. And, well-"  
  
"You got yourself locked in a closet?"  
  
Ron hesitated, then sighed. "Yes."  
  
"Dullard."   
  
Draco's head listed to the side again, and fell against Ron's broad shoulder before the blonde quickly jerked up again.   
  
Ron clenched his teeth in annoyance. "Your stupid girly hair is bugging me, Malfoy."  
  
"Girly hair?!"  
  
Ron reached down to smooth the blonde tendrils that were bothering him, but stopped short when his hand encountered Malfoy's forehead instead. He pulled his hand away, something wet on his fingers. "What the hell?" What was it? "Gross. What the bloody hell is on your forehead, Ferret?"  
  
Draco's head had dropped to Ron's shoulder and stayed there. "Huh?" asked the blonde, sounding dazed.  
  
Ron's eyes widened. Malfoy's voice had sounded slurred all along... "Malfoy," he tried. "Did the Slytherins hit you or something?"  
  
"Uh..." he trailed off.  
  
Ron tried again. "Did you get hit, Malfoy?"  
  
"Got slammed 'gainst a wall," came the dazed reply. Malfoy seemed to be drifting to sleep.  
  
"Maybe you shouldn't sleep," said Ron. His hands, which had been at his sides thus far, came up and wrapped around Malfoy's midriff tightly. He shook the other boy. "Stay awake for a while." He didn't want to get blamed for murder or something when they were found, after all. It wasn't pity, it wasn't that he believed Malfoy shouldn't be beaten. He didn't want to be blamed.  
  
Right.  
  
"Hmmm," said Malfoy.  
  
Ron's limbs had started to hurt from being in the small space for so long. He was hungry. He was thirsty.   
  
He should've been worried about more pressing matters. Like, how long could a person live without water or food? Was it more than three nights and two days?  
  
But he didn't think about that. Instead, he concentrated on gently shaking Malfoy awake every time the blonde seemed as if he was about to drop off to sleep. Instead, he monitored the compact teen's breathing.  
  
Deciding that conversation would be a good way to keep the Slytherin awake, Ron spoke up. "Malfoy? What happened in the hallway that day? Why is Pansy treating you like that? I mean..." He trailed off.   
  
When Draco answered his drowsiness seemed to have disappeared. It was replaced with anger.  
  
"She saw her parents murdered recently, Weasel. And not that's it's any of your business, but she hasn't been in the best of moods."  
  
Ron ignored the harsh tone. "Saw? You mean Parkinson was there when...You mean she saw it happen?" This was definitely news to the redhead. After hearing about Malfoy's killing spree Ron, along with Harry and Hermione, had come to the conclusion that Narcissa and the Parkinson's had betrayed Lucius and Voldermort. The trio, however, had not believed that this betrayal had anything to do with Pansy's parents and Draco's mother working for the side of the light. Instead, they'd figured that the aristocrats had failed to do some evil deed their Dark Lord had wished them to, or had decided to take over the world for themselves, instead of following He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.   
  
Evil or not, though, Ron didn't believe anyone should have to see their own parents murdered. Not even the horrible Pansy Parkinson.  
  
"Malfoy?" Ron asked, eyes suddenly widening. "Did you see it happen?" It would make sense if the blonde had seen. The murders had taken place at Malfoy Manor, after all.  
  
The blonde was tense. It seemed as if he was trying his hardest not to lean against Ron. He didn't answer. The redhead opened his mouth to ask again when the memory of the platinum-blonde Slytherin, leaning against the castle's stone wall, came to him. That first night back at Hogwarts, Malfoy's eyes had been red and puffy. Before he'd tripped Ron, he'd been crying. Probably crying for his mother, who he'd probably seen killed by his own father.   
  
Ron shut his mouth and closed his eyes.  
  
"Go to sleep," he snarled at the blonde, not liking the feeling of pity (pity for Malfoy) that seemed to be overtaking him. He said nothing else, and soon fell asleep to the soothing sound of Draco's soft breathing.  
  
His arms stayed wrapped around the blonde's middle and, shortly after he'd fallen asleep, a comforting weight came, again, to rest against his chest.  
  
"Where's Draco?"  
  
Startled, Hermione dropped the fork she'd been picking at her fried egg with. Sitting directly across from her, Harry nearly spit out his mouthful of milk.  
  
Pansy Parkinson had taken the formerly vacated seat next to Hermione. Her hair looked tangled, her eyes were unnaturally wide and bloodshot, and both her face and neck were riddled with bruises. Under the cover of the robe she was wearing, Hermione assumed Pansy was probably just as bruised. "Pansy?! What happened?!"  
  
"I fell," muttered the girl.  
  
Harry and Hermione just gaped at her. What else was there to do? The sight before them was surprising, and there was nothing they could really say. She was their "enemy", after all. They weren't supposed to be sympathetic about her falling.  
  
Hermione was the first to recover from the shock of seeing Pansy looking so horrid, and moved on to acknowledge the shock she felt at seeing the Slytherin girl at the Gryffindor table. "What do you need, Pansy?"  
  
The pug-faced girl scowled. "I'm looking for Draco. Have you seen him?"  
  
Harry coughed. "Malfoy? No way. I mean...why?"  
  
Pansy shrugged. "He still picks fights with Weasley. I thought maybe they had ended up in the hospital wing or something."  
  
Hermione's eyes narrowed. "No. Ron isn't in the hospital wing with anyone." Hermione knew this for a fact. Both she and Harry had checked when they hadn't been able to find their friend (maybe former friend?) the night before. They'd checked everywhere. "He probably skipped breakfast or something. Why don't you ask your friends about it?" She glanced over at the Slytherin table and missed Pansy's flinch.  
  
Harry didn't miss it. And when he recalled Lucius Malfoy's murdering spree his internal investigator woke up. "When did you last see him?" He didn't care about Malfoy, but Ron, being as lucky as the redhead was, might've run into some trouble meant for the blonde. Or might've run into the blonde himself, which was trouble enough.  
  
"Yesterday during our last class." She glanced around the Great Hall nervously. Millicent Bullstrode shot her a suspicious and dark look. "Listen, if you guys can ask Weasley about seeing him that would be grand. I've got to go." She stood and wandered towards the huge doorway that led out of the Hall.  
  
Hermione and Harry looked at each other.   
  
"That was odd," said Hermione.  
  
"Yes. Odd," Harry agreed.  
  
After another minute of unsuccessfully trying to focus on eating their breakfast, both seventh years stood and left the Great Hall.  
  
Harry headed downstairs to check out the dungeons while Hermione headed, again, for the hospital wing.   
  
They had to find Ron. 


	5. Four

FALL FROM GRACE

Author: Nox (goddess underscore nox at hotmail dot com)

Notes: I'm very, very sorry for the extremely long delay. I have plenty of excuses. Most of them involve plain laziness and moving to another city to attend a University, but I'll skip that part and get on with it. Thanks for all the reviews last chapter! I was so excited, I started writing the next chapter right off. Unfortunately, I wasn't happy with the result. And I'm still not so sure this chapter is the same style, or of the same quality, as the others. Please tell me what you think! Oh, and I'd like to thank chimerical for pointing out how confusing my summary is (I was worried about that). I plan to change it soon! Thanks very, very much to all reviewers! Y'all are BEYOND awesome!

_Italics_ now stand for emphasis, and --- stands for scene change.

FOUR:

Ron woke feeling warm. Without opening his eyes he yawned and stretched. Or at least he _tried_ to stretch. However his arms, which under usual circumstances he would've simply lifted over his head, were wrapped securely around something soft. Still not opening his eyes, the redhead gave a contented sigh and hugged whatever that something soft was closer. In his mind's eye he could see Hermione with her flowing hair and pouty mouth leaning against him. He knew that, of course, his mind's eye was lying to him. But it was still nice to imagine.

/Not true? Than.../ Ron opened his eyes. He concentrated on the feel of hot breath against his neck for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what was going on. It was when the body leaning against his own shifted that the events of the previous night came back to him. He was fighting the urge to retch and going through some extremely creative cuss words in his head when the closet door suddenly swung open, letting in light, the morning breeze, and revealing a little house elf whose eyes looked even bigger than what was usual for its species. Ron credited the wide eyes to surprise. Walking in on two boys cuddling in a closet most probably wasn't an everyday occurrence for the Hogwarts servant.

"Hello," managed Ron. He was definitely not having a good morning. First waking up with Malfoy in a closet, then being discovered by someone (or something, at least) in a closet with Malfoy, and now...Well, those earlier thoughts about Hermione and all the shifting the blonde seemed to be doing weren't helping the redhead's usual early morning problem. /I hope the prat doesn't notice,/ thought the youngest Weasley brother. He should've never suggested that the Slytherin sit between his legs.

/Why the hell is he _moving_ so much?!/

"You awake?"

The shifting stopped. "Yes. Oh...the door." Malfoy ran slender fingers through his hair.

"I know," said Ron. "The door is open. Now move so I can leave. I don't enjoy being here, you know."

"Pity," replied Malfoy. "Because I was _so_ enjoying it."

Ron snorted. "Certainly seemed like you were. All that snoring-" He was cut off by Malfoy's sharp elbow digging into his chest. He let out an "ooph" and glared at the blond's backside for a moment before realizing that he was actually glaring at Malfoy's _backside_. He followed the smaller teen's example and stood. He stretched and stepped into the dim light of the hallway.

It felt good to be free.

"Thank you," he told the speechless little house elf. The creature was wearing a single, lavender sock and had one of the little hats Hermione had made back in fifth year on its head. Probably Dobby's best friend or something.

Ron noticed the grateful little nod Malfoy aimed in the house elf's general direction, but decided he must have imagined it. Malfoy certainly didn't thank anyone. Most especially not an elf.

The redhead's stomach growled. His eyes still adjusting to the light, Ron tried to remember the last thing he'd eaten and glared absently in the seventh year Slytherin's direction. The blonde hadn't moved yet. He was just standing in the hallway, chewing at his bottom lip. The injury, which was just below his hairline, had bled. Dried blood covered the right side of Malfoy's head and neck. Ron glanced down at his shirt. One of the good shirts he'd bought himself over the summer with his extra money.

/Yup, blood there too. Great./ He supposed he couldn't exactly tell the platinum-haired teen off for _bleeding_.

"You okay?" he asked, trying to sound as uncaring as possible. Of course, sounding that way wasn't really hard. He _didn't_ care.

Malfoy didn't answer right away. Ron was growing angry, planning on storming off and heading down to breakfast (it seemed early enough to still be breakfast time) when the blonde finally nodded and turned to face him.

"Snape has spells set up to prevent that sort of thing."

The redhead blinked. Perhaps the Slytherin had gotten brain damage after all. "What?"

"You said you caught your friends snogging. Snape has spells up to stop boys going to the girls dorms and vise versa. If you want to get back at Potter and the Teacher's Pet for not telling you they were together you could ask McGonagall about the spells. She'd probably be delighted to cast them."

It took a moment for Ron to realize that Malfoy was actually attempting to have a conversation with him. Trying to help him even. "Oh...That's not a bad idea." Not that he would do it. At least, he didn't think he would do it. It did sound appealing...

/What's he playing at? Malfoy being helpful?/ Over his temporary shock, the youngest Weasley brother became suspicious. He glared again at the blond, noticing his slightly slumped stance, his messy hair, and his blood-covered face.

Nearly all of Ron's suspicion melted away when Malfoy's appearance reminded the redhead of the night before, and of what he'd found out.

Malfoy had seen his mother killed. Had seen his father commit gruesome suicide. He'd seen his best friend's parents murdered, and now his former allies were starting to beat the crap out of him. /Okay, so that might of changed him a little. Maybe he's a helpful Malfoy now./

Ron had no intention of becoming friendly with the blonde (he thought the Slytherin would probably flinch at the words "friendly" and "Ron" in the same sentence, anyway), but becoming a civil acquaintance with the boy didn't seem so bad an idea now that Malfoy had gained a semi-human personality.

"Maybe you should go see Pomfrey."

Malfoy gave a little sneer. Not an evil one. Just a sneer. "No. I'm fine."

Ron shrugged. "Well, I'll be off to breakfast then." He moved to pat Malfoy on the shoulder, and didn't notice the slight flinch that resulted from the action. "Good thing that elf came along, isn't it? I'm glad we're out of the closet."

Malfoy gave the redhead a weird look. Then shot a weird look at the big hand still on his shoulder. But he kept quiet.

Ron, realizing what he'd said, coughed. "I'll, uh, see you." He hurried off.

Draco, a smirk on his face, watched him walk off.

-----

Harry searched the dungeons thoroughly. He even chanced sneaking about the entrance to Slytherin House. But he found no trace of Ron.

Dejected, the Boy Who Lived headed back to the Great Hall. It was the weekend, so breakfast would still be going on for a while longer. Maybe he'd find Ron at the Gryffindor table. And if not, he could meet up with Hermione there and they could head to Hagrid's hut to look for their missing friend.

/Friend./ Harry sighed. Some friends. They really should've said something to Ron. Hell, they shouldn't have had anything _to_ say to Ron in the first place. He'd known the redhead liked Hermione. He'd known for a long time.

/I'm an ass./

Feeling even worse than he had been feeling a few minutes before, Harry entered the Hall. He pushed his way through a crowd of Hufflepuff's and was maneuvering around a few giggling fourth year girls when he noticed a tall, redheaded teen sitting at the Gryffindor table.

It was Ron. He looked horrible, and tired, and was stuffing his face, but Harry had never been more glad to see him.

"Find him?" Hermione had come up behind him. Harry turned to her. She looked worried and exhausted.

"Yes. Right over there." He gestured to their House table. The girl gasped and took off, Harry right behind her.

Ron stopped eating when he noticed them. His face became blank. Not mad. Not hurt. Just blank.

"Ron!" squealed Hermione. It seemed as if she was on the brink of tears. "Where were you? We were so worried! Oh I'm sorry. We're both sorry. We should've told you something. Walking in like that...You probably want to kill us. You were probably shocked to death. Are you okay?" She took a breath, and the redhead took this opportunity to speak.

"I already knew."

Silence.

Harry blinked. "What?"

Ron shrugged and dug into his food again. "I saw you two snogging during holiday. Right outside of Fortescue's Parlor. I was shopping for school things and I saw you. So I already knew. I've been waiting for you to tell me something all year. Seeing you two...I just got a little mad. Why didn't you tell me?" He continued eating, like he didn't expect an answer.

"I'm sorry, Ron." Harry looked miserable.

"Oh. Ron..." Hermione, for once, didn't know what to say.

They both took a seat across from Ron, lost in thought. Hermione finally broke the quiet. "Ron, are you really mad? No, wait, that's a dim question. I mean, will you forgive us? For not being honest? We should've been. I'm sorry. We were just worried...Well, that's no excuse."

Ron grinned. Not his normal, goofy grin. Just a slight lift of the lips. "You two are my best friends. I think I understand why you did what you did. Of course I forgive you. I just...Maybe I need a little bit of time to get over it." Saying this, the redhead shot a sort of envious look at Hermione.

/Time to get over _her_,/ thought Harry, feeling suddenly miffed at his friend for shooting glances like that at his girlfriend. Then he remembered who exactly Ron was, and remembered that Ron had almost always liked Hermione. His "my girlfriend" instincts quickly backed down, and he felt bad.

Hermione seemed oblivious to the look, though all three friends knew she noticed it. She'd also known that Ron liked her. "Of course," she said. "I understand."

Harry thought the girl didn't sound like she understood. She sounded sad and lost. Like she thought their close friendship was suddenly ending. Like she thought "time to get over it" meant forever. Like she believed Ron was leaving their trio.

The Boy Who Lived clenched his fists. He couldn't help but agree with his girlfriend. It wouldn't be fair to Ron. Their trio was really more of a duo now, with he and Hermione spending so much time together. He suspected the redhead wouldn't enjoy sitting around during their make-out sessions. Not when he'd liked Hermione so much. Not when he himself didn't have someone to be a "duo" with.

Ron probably wanted to be alone. Alone without his best friends. Alone so he could find new friends who didn't hurt so much to be around.

Harry really didn't blame the redhead. He still wanted to spend as much time as ever with Ron, but he didn't blame Ron for wanting to change things.

Hermione suddenly perked up. "You want to walk to Hagrid's hut with us later? We can go visit him for a bit. Really quick. Maybe just get a cup of tea. It won't take long at all. Then we can all, uh, take off."

Ron had finished eating. "No," he said, still smiling the sad smile. "That's okay. I'd better go. I'm going to be late for class, anyway." He stood, gave a little wave, and walked away.

"Wow," sighed Hermione. "He must really be mad at us. Not that I blame him, but he's never the one to mention class first."

"It's _Saturday_," said Harry.

And that seemed to explain everything.

-----

Pansy was sitting on one of the comfortable, green chairs and staring into the inactive fireplace when the brick wall slid aside to allow Draco inside the Slytherin common room.

The blonde's eyes were drooping. He looked decidedly horrible. "Pansy?"

The girl jerked violently in her seat before hopping up and spinning around. She crossed the room in a few strides and glared at her housemate. "What's all that blood? Are you hurt badly?" She raised her hand and probed just below Draco's injury with gentle fingers.

"I'm fine." The platinum-haired teen tried not to trick himself into thinking the pug-faced girl really cared. Maybe once. But now she was just worried about her secret weapon getting damaged before she could use it. Draco knew she didn't really care, and knew he deserved that.

"What about you?" He eyed the bruises marring her skin. Millicent and the others had obviously gotten a hold of her. They'd obviously enjoyed themselves.

"Just dandy. I got some pain killer from Pomfrey." She turned and went again to the chair.

Draco frowned. "Pomfrey? Didn't she ask what happened?"

Pansy shrugged. "I told her I'd fallen down a flight of stairs."

"There's an imprint of a _hand_ on your face and she believed you?"

The girl sneered. "She doesn't care enough about us Slytherins to investigate. Maybe if it had been a Gryffindor..." She trailed off.

Draco said nothing. He sunk down into the two-seater sofa next to Pansy's chair and closed his eyes.

"They died for nothing. For a bunch of morons who don't give a shit about them."

The blonde opened his eyes. "What?"

Pansy glanced his way and continued. "My parents and your mother. They died for a bunch of muggles who will never hear about them and a bunch of wizards and witches who, even now that they're dead, don't believe they died doing the right thing. All three of them, and all the others who are trying to fight the Dark Lord from the inside are imbeciles. I hate them."

"Don't say that!" Draco shot up, teeth bared and eyes narrowed.

"Don't tell me what to say, you prick! I hate them! They did no good! The only thing their good-doing is going to accomplish is getting us tortured and killed. That's all."

The blonde bit at his lip, but stopped when he tasted blood. "Dumbledore and the professors won't let that happen. And the others can't kill us. They're still in school. They'll get caught. The Headmaster will stop them."

Pansy shook her head. "It's seventh year. The war is coming. It won't matter that they're in school. Voldermort will snap his fingers anytime, telling the Death Eaters to get the war started, and Blaise and the others will _kill_ us. And no one cares about two traitor Slytherins, Draco. No one will even care."

The girl was upset. She was breathing hard, her face was red, and some tears had leaked from her eyes and down her cheeks.

Draco didn't reply again. He sat back down on the couch and closed his eyes.

"Where were you all night?" The blonde could feel Pansy's eyes on him.

"Blaise slammed my head into a wall and then locked me in a closet. An elf let me out this morning."

"Oh." A pause. "Was the Weasel with you?"

Draco opened his eyes, surprised. "Yes. Why?" He hoped the Gryffindor idiot hadn't actually spread the story of their unlucky encounter around school. He didn't want anyone knowing he'd sat between Weasley's _legs_.

"You always run into that prat. And he wasn't with Potter and the muggle-born at breakfast. I thought maybe you two started trouble with each other." A pause. "I can't do this."

"What?"

"Act normal with you. I _hate_ you. I...I can't do this." Nearly in tears again, Pansy shot a withering look at the blonde before running for her dorm.

Draco headed for his own dorm to take a shower. He needed to get all of the blood off of his face, he needed to get rid of his stained shirt, and he needed to not think about everything Pansy had said.

He knew pretty much everything she'd said was true. But he didn't want to think about it.

-----

For the remainder of the weekend following Halloween, Ron couldn't seem to stop thinking about Malfoy. This was curious, considering the blonde Slytherin certainly wasn't around enough that weekend to warrant such behavior.

The Slytherin traitor was nowhere to be seen during lunch Saturday, but the redhead still managed to dwell on the (decidedly mortifying) memory of their little closet adventure. The platinum-haired teen was not in the hallways on Sunday, nor did he show up to any meals. And still, despite this, memories of the boy crying on that first night back managed to sneak up on Ron.

It was nearly eleven in the evening on Sunday, while he was sitting in the Gryffindor common room (one of the little knights on the chessboard in front of him was screaming at the redhead, telling him to fetch someone else and _play_ already), when Ron finally chalked his frequent thoughts about Malfoy up to post traumatic stress syndrome. A night with Malfoy in a closet was sure to grate on anyone's sanity.

With that reassuring theory on his mind, the redhead had gone up to bed without saying goodnight to his two best friends.

Not that he was being bitter. They just weren't around to say goodnight _to_. Ron had seen them leave the common room, hand in hand, hours ago.

He had a hard time getting to sleep.


	6. Five

FALL FROM GRACE

Author: Harikari (Formerly Known As Nox2) I changed my name, hurray!

Notes: Here's the fifth chapter. Hope you enjoy. Thanks for all the reviews so far! All comments and constructive criticism welcome and appreciated.

_Italics_ now stand for emphasis, and --- stands for scene change.

FIVE:

For Draco, the Monday after Halloween weekend didn't come nearly soon enough. He'd spent almost all of Saturday and Sunday tucked away in his dorm, sitting on his bed with the lavish, green drapes hiding him from view.

He'd listened as his dorm mates joked, and snickered, and shuffled around in the mornings before disappearing downstairs, only to return many hours later to settle down for bed. Draco had used his time alone to brood.

He'd thought about his mother, and his father, and Pansy. About Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson. He wondered if Pansy still had the newspaper article reporting his father's killing spree, and tried to think of a way he might be able to steal it back. He wanted that small, black and white photograph of Narcissa Malfoy; he wanted a bit of his mother to hold on to.

Thinking about his mother for all of those hours had eventually led him to thinking about that late-summer night at Malfoy Manor. When that had happened, he'd just closed his eyes and bit at his lip, pretending he didn't remember how horrible and high-pitched and gut-wrenching all of the screams had sounded. Pretending he didn't remember the insane smirk on his father's face.

When Crabbe's snoring had become regular and loud, and Draco had been sure that all of the other seventh year Slytherin boys were asleep, the blonde had gotten out of bed and headed silently and carefully down to the school kitchens for a bite to eat.

Now, finally, it was Monday morning and time for classes. Draco woke up exceptionally early to avoid having to deal with Blaise and the others, and got ready quickly. When he entered the Great Hall the tables were mostly empty, and he was still straightening the green and silver tie that went with his uniform, his robe slung carelessly over one arm.

He passed a few droopy-eyed students picking at their oatmeal before reaching his usual spot and sitting down to eat. He fixed his plate and dug in. When a few more semi-alert students began to file into the Hall, the blonde looked up from chewing his toast and noticed a familiar, red-headed figure slumped at the Gryffindor table.

Ron.

Weasley was alone at the table, and Draco briefly wondered where the other two Gryffindorks that made up the famous trio were before remembering their conversation in the closet. So, Harry and the Bookworm were snogging now, and the Weasel was feeling bad about it.

In the back of his mind, the Slytherin couldn't help but think what great material that information gave him. He could give the whole trio crap about it, poking at them until one of them ended up exploding-

But that didn't matter anymore. He was no longer the leader of the Slytherins. And as for the rest of the school? It seemed they all thought it best to completely ignore him, seeing as how he wasn't a threat anymore; they certainly couldn't feel pity for a _Malfoy_.

Draco was mostly glad about this. He didn't want or deserve pity. Although, before this year, he wasn't accustomed to being ignored. It was really quite lonely.

Ron, seeming surprised, looked up as if he'd just heard someone calling for him. His eyes met Draco's. He blinked, then nodded.

It was a hello nod. The blonde fought his own look of surprise, too stunned to nod back. Why the hell had the Weasel done _that_? Was it because of their night in the closet together? Ron was still looking at him, and Draco felt his face go warm for no apparent reason.

He looked away and went back to eating. He finished up his meal and headed to his first class without another glance in the Gryffindor's direction.

-----

Ron's last class of the day was Potions, and he was dreading going to it for more than one reason. He trudged slowly towards the dungeons, his bookbag gripped loosely in one hand and dragging behind him. Professor Snape had been bad enough. Now he had to deal with a lovey-dovey Harry and Hermione, too. And now they _knew _he knew about them, so they'd no doubt be throwing pity-glances his way all through class, just as they had during the last class they'd all had together that day.

Harry, obviously nervous, would look him over with critical green eyes. And Hermione would glance at his face, her own mouth turned up to form a reassuring little smile. God, how he'd wanted to have those lips for himself. And God, how horrible it made him feel, to know she was only being friendly and concerned when she looked at him that way.

His thoughts dark, Ron reached the Potions classroom. He stopped inside the doorway to scope out a seat. Maybe he could find one far enough away from his two friends that they _couldn't _give him those looks of worry every half a minute.

Harry and Hermione were already in class. They weren't sitting together, though. Hermione was at the table in the very front of the room, her cauldron and basic potion-making supplies spead out neatly in front of her. Harry sat at the table just behind her, pushing his glasses up on his nose and saying something that was making Hermione laugh delightedly.

Ron guessed the odd seating arrangement was for his benefit. If he wanted, he could choose to sit next to Harry _or _Hermione. It would be just like old times. Just like a normal, platonic group of friends sitting next to each other.

Except, in reality, it wasn't like old times. And the redhead most definitely didn't want to pretend like it was. He wasn't so much angry that they were together, even though that fact did hurt. It was more that they hadn't told him anything about their relationship until they'd been caught at it.

That had hurt the most, and Ron was still a little sore from it. He didn't want them to continue acting like nothing was going on. He just wanted their trust and honesty. He wanted them to act _real_, and not like he was going to break or blow up because of any wrong move.

Holding back a sigh, he shot a look around the room for an empty seat. There was one beside Neville, but Ron didn't feel like dealing with something exploding in his face, or with turning into a toad. He saw a spot free by Dean Thomas near the back of the room and headed over to it quickly.

The giggling Hermione and chattering Harry didn't even notice when he passed them.

Before he got to the seat by Dean, Seamus came and took it for himself. The teen sat down and began digging through his bag frantically, not even looking up. Dean, seeing that Seamus had taken Ron's potential seat, gave the redhead a shrug of sympathy.

Ron spun around to check the table across from Dean's and found himself looking at the profile of one Draco Malfoy. The boy had his lips thin and tight, and seemed to be looking in the direction of Pansy. The Slytherin girl had taken the seat next to Neville. She was staring at an uninteresting stretch of the dungeon wall, a quill in her hand. She didn't seem to notice the uncomfortable boy next to her.

Usually, Slytherins and Gryffindors didn't sit together unless they were forcibley paired by Professor Snape. Ron looked to the front of the room and saw that the seats next to the still-oblivious Harry and Hermione had been taken already.

Oh well. What the hell. The redhead had seen the teen in the Great Hall that morning, and had nodded a hello. He didn't know what exactly had possessed him to do it, but Draco hadn't sneered or cursed at him. He'd just looked shocked and unsure.

Having made his decision, Ron threw his bag down on the table and took a seat on the stool. Draco broke away from looking at the pug-faced Slytherin girl and shot wide eyes in the redhead's direction, but didn't say anything.

"Hullo," said Ron, wondering to himself why he was trying to initiate a civil conversation with a _Slytherin_, of all people.

"Err...," Draco looked quite disoriented. The redhead had to resist the urge to laugh out loud at the look on his face. The blonde opened his mouth, as if about to say something more, but Snape came stomping into the classroom, robes billowing, and his attention was effectively diverted.

-----

Snape had the classroom copy down loads and loads of notes for a potion they would be working on that week. And after he had done that, he went into lecture mode. He went on and on, and shot a hostile look at anyone who appeared to be falling asleep.

It was a very advanced potion they were going to be making. And a very dangerous one. Draco listened closely and took notes studiously. His favorite subject was potions, after all. He only occasionally stopped his note-taking to glance at Pansy, but he did this less and less, as she never even so much as twitched.

Even with his concentration so much on notes, though, Draco managed to miss a few of the very last things the Professor had said. He tapped his quill on his parchment impatiently and looked over at the redhead who had decided, for some odd reason, to sit next to him.

The teen was already stuffing his own notes into his tattered bag, wrinkling them. "Weasley?" he asked.

Ron turned to him. "Yeah?" He looked cautious, as if he wasn't quite sure if Malfoy would simply ask him a question, or shoot him an insult. "What?"

"Did you get that last direction the Professor gave? Did he say we should chop the root or powder it?"

Looking relieved, the Gryffindor unrolled his wrinkly parchment, studied it, then stuck it in front of Draco's face, before quickly pulling it away. "Chop," he said.

"Thanks," drawled Malfoy, blinking to focus his eyes. He wrote the note down and then hurridely began packing up his own bag. He watched from the corner of his eye as both Harry and Hermione came up to the table, smiling nervously at Ron and shooting somewhat-but-not-quite vicious looks at Draco.

"Hey Ron, we saved you a seat but...I guess you came late." Hermione said this, glancing hesitantly at Draco.

The Slytherin simply ignored her.

The redhead shrugged. "I'm going to do a few laps around the Quidditch Pitch after dinner. You guys want to come?"

Hermione's face looked suddenly pinched. "Sorry, Ron. I've got some Head Girl things to tend to." She shrugged, looking genuinly sorry. "You know."

"Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "I've got an appointment. I'm...I need to talk to Dumbledore."

At this, both Hermione and Ron looked surprised. "Dumbledore?" they asked in unison. It was so loud that the few students still packing up their things, or heading out the door, gave them curious looks.

Draco, not caring to listen to anymore of the trio's blathering, shouldered his bag and turned to walk away.

"Malfoy," said Harry, stopping him. He turned around, looking blankly at the Boy Who Lived. "Pansy came asking about you Friday. She couldn't find you." Silence. Harry seemed to be itching to ask him a question.

"And?" urged Malfoy, trying to sound annoyed. But his old bite wasn't in it.

"Where were you?" Harry's eyes narrowed, and his gaze went to the healing wound on Draco's forehead. "Is that-"

The blonde shot a nervous glance at Ron before cutting the Gryffindor off. "Pansy isn't looking for me anymore, Potter. Where I was isn't really any of your business, is it?" With that, he turned and walked away, ignoring Harry's angry retort, and trying not to feel too pleased with the fact that Pansy had asked around for him.

"Ah, Harry," he heard Ron say, just before he was out of earshot. "He's just being Malfoy. Leave him be."

-----

The sky was gray with early evening by the time Ron finally got out to the Quidditch field. He gripped the handle of his broom tightly and stared up at the sinking sun and darkening clouds for a moment, enjoying the fresh air.

If he was honest with himself, he'd have to admit he was almost glad that both of his best friends were too busy to be with him. He liked the idea of having a break from their recently tense friendship. It felt good to be alone for a while.

He took a deep breath of the cool air and stradled his broom before rising up into the air slowly and smoothly. It didn't take long before he was zooming over the field, doing flips and dives and generally having a good time. He yelped loudly and joyfully, and all the bad things he'd been dwelling on seemed to melt away.

He stayed flying for a good while; up until his fingers started to go numb and his teeth started to chatter. He landed quickly and efficiently near the center of the field, stumbling only a little when his feet touched the ground again. He laughed out loud and studied the sky. The sun had completely fallen, and the moon and stars gave off a soft, white light.

"Have fun there, Weasel?"

The voice came suddenly from the direction of the stands, and Ron barely stopped himself from jumping. He glanced around until he spotted Draco Malfoy sitting alone on one of the lower benches. Ron, having noticed the lack of hostility in the boy's question, just nodded and trotted over. He didn't know why, so suddenly, he felt as if it was no big deal being around his former arch nemesis.

He reached the lower part of the Slytherin stands and worked his way up to sit next to the blonde. "I have to stay in practice."

"Right," answered Draco, quite unenthusiastically.

They sat in silence for a moment. Ron noticed Malfoy was gripping his thin, black wand tightly. Some spell-o-tape was wrapped around its middle, holding it together. The redhead allowed himself a brief flashback to second year, when his own wand had broken, before gesturing at the tape with a hand. "What happened there?"

Draco stared at him for a moment, almost glaring. Ron imagined the teen was trying to figure out why exactly the two of them, of all people, were having a normal conversation. Ron was trying to figure out the same thing himself.

"Zabini snapped it in two," said Malfoy, finally.

"Zabini?" asked Ron. He tried to match the name up with a face, but couldn't think of anyone. "Was it an accident?"

"Blaise Zabini," confirmed the blonde. "He took it from me Friday night when he shoved me in the closet with you. When I got out I found it on my bed, snapped in two." He twirled it and sighed dramatically. "Works like crap, now. And we've got NEWTs coming up this year." He shook his head, and Ron noticed the little tendrils of hair that fell in the way of Malfoy's eyes before slender fingers with perfectly manicured nails came and brushed them quickly back into place.

He coughed, a little surprised at himself and not sure why he was thinking the way he was. "I remember Blaise. Right bastard, isn't he?" And now he really could recall Blaise Something-Or-Other. He could remember glancing him around the hallways. He was always sneering or saying something unpleasant at the top of his lungs, and Crabbe and Goyle were always tagging along behind him, along with a trail of other oversized or overly mean sixth and seventh year Slytherins.

Blaise was the new King of the Slytherins. He was Draco's replacement.

"That's him," answered the blonde. "That's a nice broom. Can I see it?" Judging by the face he was making, it seemed as if it was physically painful for Draco to give Ron a compliment of any sort. But the teen held out his hand expectantly for the broom, anyway.

Ron handed it to him. It wasn't the newest or best model of brooms out this year, but it was considerably nicer than his last splinter-ridden horror.

The blonde studied it appreciatively for a moment before handing it back.

"Want to try it for a minute?" asked Ron, feeling uncharacteristically charitable. He'd payed for the broom with the vast majority of his summer work money, and was rather proud of it. Draco didn't answer him at first, and Ron thought he was probably thinking up some snide comment, seeing as how the blonde was quite rich, and probably had a much better broom stashed away in his dorm.

"I'm not going to play this year," commented Malfoy, after a long silence.

"What?!" thundered Ron, so harshly and suddenly that the Slytherin jumped a little. "Err..sorry. It's just, how can you not play? Well, I guess I shouldn't complain, but you're _Malfoy_. You're the Gryffindor's biggest competition. Without you-"

"I can't," said the boy, simply and softly.

Ron stopped his ranting and looked at the teen, frowning a little. Why wasn't he going to play? He'd played Quidditch since his second year, he was a formidable seeker... It didn't make any sense at all.

Draco looked up at Ron and smiled suddenly. "What are you so upset about, Weasely? You should be glad I won't be up there to kick your stumbling arse."

The redhead's temper, which had been noticabley absent for a while, quickly skyrocketed. "Stumbling?! I oughta pound your ugly face in, Ferret Boy!"

He clenched his teeth and glared dangerously at the laughing Malfoy. He watched the boy's startling gray eyes light up with mirth; saw his unusually full mouth quirk. And, somehow, for a moment, Ron was reminded of Hermione. And before he could really contemplate what he was doing, he'd grabbed Draco's narrow shoulder to stop his squirming and was leaning dangerously forward.

He could already feel the blonde's minty breath against his lips when it happened. He felt a strange surge of _something_- something painful - coming from inside of Malfoy and transferring into him. It was like a shock of electricity, but somehow more painful and more intense. Ron thought, for a stunned second, that he'd been hit with a spell. But in the next second Draco was pushing him away, a startled and disbelieving look on his face.

"Don't _touch _me!" he shouted, before wrenching his shoulder from Ron's grip and standing. "Godammit Weasley, what the fuck do you think you were doing?" His eyes flashing,- with anger this time- he turned and quickly strode away.

Ron, his body still humming with the odd sort of electric pain, blinked. He looked down and stared blankly at the broken, spell-o-taped wand Draco had left behind.

What the _hell_ had just happened?


	7. Six

FALL FROM GRACE

Author: Harikari

Notes: Here's chapter seven. How long has it been since my last update? Forever and a day? Feel free to throw tomatoes and other such things at my head. Feel free. 0.o Thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story - I really do appreciate the comments and constructive crit and read every word of feedback I get. I know I can't possibly be sorry enough to make up for the unthinkably long delay – it was horrible of me, I know. But real life tends to get in the way of things. I have a break from Uni coming up, though. And FFG is now my primary project when it comes to fanfic. So, here's hoping I can get some chapters out quickly! Please tell me what you think of this chapter – I'm not sure about it, myself. Again, I'm sorry about the long wait, and I hope you enjoy!

_Italics_ now stand for emphasis, and --- stands for scene change. Apparently /thoughts/ no longer works very well no matter WHAT I attempt to do in order to fix it, so I'll be putting character thoughts in _italics, _also. Sorry for the inconsistency - and be sure to let me know if it gets too confusing, so that I can try something else.

SIX:

Pansy trudged to class.

She didn't want to go to class. She didn't see the point in it anymore. The Slytherin seventh year had a strong feeling, a logical feeling, that she wouldn't make it through the end of the school year. She was a traitor, and she knew very well what happened to traitors of the Dark Lord.

_I'm dead. I'm dead. _This had become her internal mantra.

Some nights Pansy would wake up in a cold sweat, a scream trapped in her throat and her heart pounding much, much too fast within her chest. On those nights she would breathe deeply to calm herself down. She would listen vaguely to the familiar sound of Millicent's snoring, and to the steady purring of Mr. Puddles (this was Millicent's pet cat, who was as large and vicious and loud in his sleep as his owner). She would think of Draco. Was he also awake in his dorm, staring blankly at the thick, green curtains that surrounded his four poster bed? Did he feel as trapped and as helpless and as scared as she did? Would she really give a shit if she knew he felt scared? Should she?

She stepped out of the large, arched door that led into the castle and started down the steps. She didn't acknowledge the sun that shone down on her, warming her; she didn't hear the birds singing in the trees. She was pretty sure she was going to be late for Care of Magical Creatures class. She took her eyes off of the progress her shoes were making and squinted across the grounds. She could make out a gaggle of Gryffindor and Slytherin students already gathered around Hagrid's hut; the half giant himself stood in the midst of the students, waving his hands in the air enthusiastically as he explained something.

She sped up her pace a little.

-----

"...be discussin' Jobberknolls," Hagrid was saying.

Pansy took up a position in the back of the class, behind two tall Gryffindors, and tried to act as if she had been there all along. She rose a little on her tiptoes and tried to get a look at the half giant. He was grinning excitedly - grinning like he usually did when he was about to introduce something dangerous to his class. There was a line of what looked like birdcages on the ground in front of him, covered with thin sheets. The cages sat silent and unmoving, almost as if they were completely empty.

Pansy knew better than to believe that. She thought, considering the half giant's history, that the cages looked incredibly ominous. The seventh year Slytherin cast a look around at the rest of the class. Most of them had expressions of nervousness or flat out fear written across their faces. She noticed, however, that the Gryffindor girl Hermione Granger had a rather relieved looking smile on her face.

_Hmm._

"Now," continued Hagrid, his voice loud and booming as always. "Can anyone tell me what a Jobberknoll is?" Before the question was even fully out of the half giant's mouth Granger's hand had shot into the air. Pansy fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"You!" Hagrid boomed, but to Pansy's great surprise he didn't point at Hermione. Instead, he raised his hand and pointed at a spot just behind Pansy. The dark haired girl hadn't realized that anyone had come to stand behind her. She spun around with wide, frightened eyes that she couldn't help. Maybe it was Millicent, maybe it was -

"They're birds," came a familiar drawl. "They're birds that don't make a sound until the moment of their death. When they die they let out a scream consisting of all the sounds they've ever heard."

It was Draco. Pansy's eyes went back to being their normal size; she tried not to look too relieved. Draco had, apparently, been late to class also. Well, that or he'd seen her arrive and had moved through the crowd of students in order to stand near her. She found herself wishing suddenly that her and the blond had all of their classes together this year. That way they could arrive to every class with each other, and she wouldn't have to worry about being ambushed or-

She cut off that train of thought quickly. _I hate Draco_,she reminded herself firmly. _I've been trying to avoid him in the classes we do have together as it is._ She gave the blond a long, disapproving sort of look that she knew he would notice before spinning around again.

"The Jobberknoll's feathers are often used as an ingredient in potions that effect memory," piped in Hermione, as if she just couldn't help herself. The whole class turned to give her a bored sort of look and her face became rather red. _I'll bet it's impossible for her to not answer a Professor's question, _thought Pansy. _I'll bet it would absolutely kill her to not answer a question._

She noticed, absently, that Granger was standing next to Harry Potter (which was absolutely nothing new), and that their redheaded Weasel friend was off to the side, next to Dean Thomas. She narrowed her eyes. Weasley was alternating between glaring at his friends in a half-hearted sort of way and shooting defensive looks at..._her_? Surprised, Pansy lifted her hand to swipe at some stray pieces of jet black hair that had escaped her pony tail. Why would he be...? Oh, no. She shot a quick look behind her. The defensive looks were directed at _Draco_.

_Hmm._

"...with your partners." Hagrid beamed and watched as the seventh years shuffled around. It took Pansy a moment to catch up. Everyone seemed to be migrating into little groups before moving over to the covered cages. Great. She turned around and grabbed Draco's forearm.

"All right," she said - and she was careful to put a lot of venom and displeasure into it. "If we _must_-" But before she could finish she noticed the Weasel making his way over to them. His face was somewhat red, and he looked determined.

"I need to talk to you," he said, and though it probably looked to everyone else who might be observing like he was speaking to _her_, Pansy could clearly deduce that he was talking to Draco. The Slytherin girl caught a glimpse of Granger's stunned face, and had no doubts that she looked very much the same at the moment. "I-" And before the redhead muggle-lover could say another word, before Pansy really knew what was happening, she was being shoved forward. She stumbled a little and just _barely_ stopped herself from crashing into the Weasel's chest. Furious, Pansy spun around, ready to tear Draco's head off.

But Draco was gone.

The blond had grabbed Neville Longbottom as a partner and was making his way over to a Jobberknoll cage.

"Well," said Pansy, still fuming. "I guess you and I will be working together today, Weasley." Angrily, the Slytherin turned and hurried to a cage. She kneeled and tore away the cover to reveal a small, white-feathered bird hopping silently around its barred home.

_Merlin_, she thought, as a pained looking Weasley kneeled beside her. She looked to Draco, who was poking his fingers into his Jobberknoll's cage and pointedly not looking her way. _What was_ that_ about?_

-----

Hermione sighed and spread some butter onto her bread. Some of the yellowish goo landed on the level seven Ancient Runes text she had open in front of her and she groaned before reaching for a napkin.

She hadn't been in the _best_ of moods lately.

Her year so far had been absolutely dreadful. Yes, it was good that she and Harry were a couple now but, somehow, that didn't seem enough to make up for all the bad going on. There was that whole mysterious mess with Lucius Malfoy and the Parkinsons - Hermione was still convinced that something bad, something spawning from that very event, was going to happen some day soon; she scanned the paper carefully every day. And then, of course, there was Ron. Poor Ron. The Gryffindor girl was overcome with a horrible, guilty feeling that made her stomach twist in an unpleasant manner just _thinking _about what she and Harry had done to the redhead.

And then, wouldn't you know it, they had to go and top it all off with refusing to go to the Quidditch Pitch with Ron yesterday. That was bad. Really bad. Ron had already made it clear that he wanted some space - he wanted some time away from his two friends. And then the redhead had gotten up enough courage and forgiveness in order to ask them out for some nice broom flying and both of them had flat out refused. Not that they hadn't had good reasons...Well, at least Hermione had had a good reason (it wasn't like she immensely _enjoyed _her Head Girl duties). She honestly wasn't so sure about Harry. Why in the world had he needed to see Dumbledore? She definitely had to remember to ask him about that meeting.

Biting into her bread, Hermione looked across the table at Ron. He wasn't sitting near her, or directly across from her as he normally would be. Instead, he was across from her and a little to the left - he was closer to Dean and Seamus. He looked tired, and as she watched he poked his spoon into his soup in an uninterested sort of way; he was more playing with his food than he was eating it. He had said hello to her when he'd first sat down to eat dinner, but after that had quickly fallen silent. He looked upset - bordering on angry. Hermione thought it odd that his anger didn't seem to be directed at her. What else could he be angry about? She got another bad, twisting feeling in her gut when she realized she couldn't just right out _ask _Ron that question. That would be butting in - which is exactly what Ron didn't want right now.

_Space_, she reminded herself, and sipped at her pumpkin juice.

Trying to steer her thoughts away from her troubled looking friend she shot a look behind her and towards the Dining Hall entrance. No sign of Harry. Where w_as_ he? She eyed the slim form of Draco Malfoy as he ambled lazily through the doorway and over to the Slytherin table before turning back to her food.

"If he doesn't hurry up he's going to miss dinner," she muttered. To her surprise Ron looked up from his mostly uneaten meal and shrugged.

"You're right," he said. "But...Oh, there he is." Startled, Hermione spun around in her seat in time to witness Harry as he strode through the entrance - right along with an annoyed looking Pansy.

_What on earth..._? Stunned, the Gryffindor girl watched numbly as Pansy hissed something - no doubt something nasty - at Harry before breaking away from his side and heading straight for her House table. Looking a little troubled, Harry headed over. By the time he sat down directly across from her he had a smile plastered across his face.

"Hey, Herm." He leaned over and, without really thinking about it, Hermione leaned too. Their lips met in an awkward, brief kiss before she pulled away with a nervous look at Ron, who didn't seem to be paying attention to them at all. "Hullo, Ron," Harry added, just as he was looking over the available foods. The redhead nodded at him without even moving his head - he had his eyes firmly fixed somewhere else.

Hermione followed the redhead's gaze and was surprised to find it directed at the Slytherin table. Well. That was a little odd. Maybe he was waiting for Draco to turn around in order to glare at him? No. That didn't make any sense - Draco had hardly _looked _at any of them this year. He hardly looked at anyone anymore. He was no longer worth fighting with; or rather, the Gryffindors had nothing to fight with him _about_. So then what? Was Ron still mulling over the killing spree Lucius Malfoy had gone on? Maybe the redhead believed the Slytherin was up to something, or...

_Pansy._ The thought hit her suddenly, like a bucket of ice water to the face.

Was Ron looking at _Pansy_? That would make slightly more sense. Hermione guessed the Slytherin girl wasn't _horrible _when it came to appearance. She had her own sort of...charm. So was that it, then? Was the redhead checking Pansy out? Ron no longer constantly shot insults at the Slytherins, nor did he spend most of his time with his old friends. So maybe his eyes had strayed lately - strayed to _Pansy_, and he'd liked what he'd seen?

_It makes sense. _Hermione had witnessed the odd exchange between Pansy and Ron in Care of Magical Creatures class. And then the two had ended up actually _working _together. She had been wondering what it could possibly mean but...Well, _now_ she knew.

Quite suddenly, Ron pushed his unfinished dinner to the center of the table - it promptly disappeared - and stood. "I'll see you guys later," he said, only half-looking at Harry and Hermione, before hurrying away from the Gryffindor table.

"Oh. Yeah, bye," Harry mumbled around a chicken leg.

Hermione watched as Ron headed for the Great Hall's exit. He reached it and vanished from view - vanished only a few seconds after Malfoy and Pansy had.

Ron had followed Pansy out of the Dining Hall. _Hmm._

Hermione turned back to her food. "Harry?" she asked, and when the bespectacled boy looked up at her she continued. "If there was a way you could make Ron happy again...I mean, even if it was a bit unconventional and you knew there was a way he could have what _we_ have together would you make it happen for him? Would you help him get it?"

"Yes," answered Harry, and his tone was so matter-of-fact and fierce that Hermione knew he meant it.

"Yes," she repeated.

Merlin. Ron and a _Slytherin_. Ron and _Pansy Parkinson_. The only thing that could possibly be worse than that was...Ron and Malfoy!

_Oh. Yeah. Right._

Hermione finished off her bread.


	8. Seven

A/N: A billion and one thankyousomuch's to those who reviewed! Reviews really do make my day, and are the only reason I bother posting my stories online at all! And in reply to the reviewer dementoricecream, they _should_ be able to do that! But I left that out purposely - it'll be made clear in the coming chapters! ; )

SEVEN:

It hadn't even been an actual kiss. That thought - that undeniable truth - was the only thing keeping Ron sane. Because... because, well, it was Draco _bloody _Malfoy who had been sitting next to him on that bench when he'd had that curious feeling - that pleasant sort of fluttering in his stomach - before leaning in for a snog. _Malfoy_.

If it really had been a kiss, if their lips had met... Ron didn't want to think about it. He really, really did not want to think about it.

But he had to. So the most comforting and acceptable thought he could form in his head was that _it _- what he and the Slytherin had done - hadn't been a kiss. Sure, the redhead had been able to feel Draco's body heat as he'd leaned in, had been able to practically taste the mint on the blond's breath...And, okay, that wasn't really helping.

The point was that Ron hadn't technically touched lips with Malfoy. He hadn't. And the truth was that the redhead hadn't even really been thinking of the Slytherin in that moment when they had most definitely not touched lips; he'd been thinking of Hermione. What happened wasn't normal, was certainly not anywhere near the vicinity of being right, but Ron was sure that if he could just talk to Draco for a moment he could get things at least sort of straightened out.

So the Gryffindor had tried. Tuesday morning, the morning after that unfortunate it-was-so-a-mistake incident, he had forced himself out of bed. Admittedly, getting over the horror of the situation (he'd almost kissed _Malfoy_, a bloody _male_, a freaking _Slytherin_) he was currently in had taken a while. He'd crawled out from under his thick covers far too late for breakfast. Still, he'd manged to get dressed and comb his hair before heading out for his first class of the day.

Most of the day had gone by slowly. Ron had gone to class, had carefully not listened to lectures pertaining to the upcoming N.E.W.T's, and had eaten a roast beef sandwich for lunch. It wasn't until Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid that Ron had gotten his first chance to speak to Malfoy.

When Hagrid had revealed the little white birds hopping around in their cages (he couldn't remember what they'd been called but they hadn't maimed him by the time class was over, which was nice) and had called for the class to split into teams of two Ron had shouldered his way through the crowd of shuffling seventh years as quickly as possible, heading for Draco.

It had not ended well.

Ron had ended up working with Pansy Parkinson and had hardly managed to make eye contact with his intended target, never mind talk to him.

The redhead, however, was not going to let that spectacular failure deter him. Or so he firmly told himself.

Now here he was in the Great Hall, sitting at his House table and poking disinterestedly at his food. Next to him was Dean, who was turned towards Seamus and chuckling at some joke the teen had made. Ron was all for Finnigan's jokes - they were _funny_ - but decided it would be in his best interest to ignore them for now. The after class detention Flitwick had given him Friday because he'd laughed at one, and what had happened when he'd gone up to his bed for a nap _after_ that detention was still too fresh a memory.

Ron wasn't very hungry. He didn't feel like eating; didn't feel like being in the Hall period. However, the redhead was on a mission. He was fairly sure that the blond he was looking for would amble in sometime during dinner, and he was going to be here to take advantage of that opportunity.

Just as this thought left his mind, just as he was reassuring himself that _yes_ he would definitely be able to confront the Slytherin, despite the humiliation of having almost kissed him, and then the added humiliation of being not-so-casually brushed off during Care of Magical Creatures... Malfoy ambled into the Great Hall and over to the Slytherin table. And Ron's resolve crumbled a little. He couldn't do it. Couldn't make himself stand up; couldn't make himself walk over to the blond and demand his attention.

_Great._ He turned away; went back to his meal.

"If he doesn't hurry up he's going to miss dinner," muttered Hermione, and Ron looked up from his rather harassed looking bowl of soup. There was no doubt the girl was talking about Harry.

She was right, of course. The redhead let his eyes drift over to the Hall entrance. He wondered where Harry was. And wondering where Harry was made him wonder about the mysterious meeting with Dumbledore the bespectacled boy had mentioned the day before. What could Harry possibly have to talk about with the Headmaster? Was he in trouble? Had he noticed anything suspicious going on around the school?

No. No way. That was impossible. Harry would have mentioned something if that were the case. Or, at least, Ron was pretty sure he would've mentioned something.

"You're right." He looked back up at the entrance. "But... Oh, there he is." Both Harry and Pansy Parkinson stepped into the Hall at the same time. Harry seemed to be talking animatedly, waving his hands around and trying to make eye contact with the girl. The Slytherin looked annoyed. She hissed something at Harry and hurried away, towards her House table.

Well, that was interesting. Ron took a moment to look carefully at his friend, who was already headed for the Gryffindor table, when his attention abruptly shifted. Back to Draco.

Parkinson had slumped down into the seat nearest Draco and was hissing something into his ear. She completely ignored the food tray that had appeared in front of her. And as Ron watched the blond, who hadn't even begun to make a dent in his own food, pushed his own tray away.

"Hullo, Ron," the redhead heard Harry acknowledge, and he nodded but didn't spare his friend a glance. His gaze was still aimed at the Slytherin table, at Malfoy.

He saw Pansy and Draco stand. They ignored the loud, rather crude jibes and howls that Millicent shouted at them before she burst into raucous laughter, and headed briskly for the exit.

Ron guessed that this was probably the best chance he was ever going to get. Draco was nearly alone, away from all the Slytherins, and he'd had some time to cool down.

_Right then._ In a rush, Ron pushed his unfinished dinner away and stood. "I'll see you guys later," he said, and only afforded his friends a sort of half-glance before hurrying away from the Gryffindor table.

He saw it as Pansy and Draco exited the Great Hall, and he followed.

-----

Draco had to privately admit that dodging Ron in Care of Magical Creatures might not have been the best of ideas. Sure, it was _reasonable_. His decision to avoid the oaf was _justified_. But...Well, he really needed his wand back.

He'd left his broken, spell-o-taped wand laying on that bench overlooking the Quidditch playing field. He hadn't even realized he'd left the thing behind until later that night while tossing and turning in bed. And once he _had_ realized he'd been much too mortified and annoyed to go back and get it immediately.

So that morning he'd gotten up early, when the sky was still gray and the air frigid and chill. He'd taken a quick shower, thrown on his school uniform and robe, and had hurried out of his House with his book bag slung carelessly over one shoulder.

The yellowed grass had crunched loudly under his feet as he'd walked, and he made a mental note to himself that should have been obvious in the first place. November mornings were _cold_. Really cold, in this case. And it probably wasn't a good idea to go traipsing around the school grounds on cold November mornings without a coat - or at the very least some heavier robes.

Once he'd made it to the Quidditch Pitch he'd hurried over to the Slytherin stands, counting in his head until he had reached the spot where he and the Weasel had been sitting the night before.

And the wand, of course, had been gone.

That redheaded Weasel had _taken _it. Or at least that's what the blond assumed; it made sense that the dullard, being the dullard that he was, would take it.

Classes had been hell.

Here he was already at dinner, sipping at his soup while carefully avoiding looking at any of the other Slytherins, and his ears were _still _ringing from all that yelling McGonagall had done when he'd told her he didn't have his wand with him.

Well, okay, maybe saying that his ears were still ringing was a bit of an exaggeration. The point was, however, that the woman had a _mouth _on her. A very _loud_ mouth.

_Stupid Weasley. _It was bad enough that the Gryffindor had gone and fucked up the tenuous truce the two of them had come to this school year. Did the redheaded git have to go and take his broken wand also?

Well, apparently so.

So caught up in thoughts of Ron, Draco nearly yelped in surprise when Pansy plopped down next to him. She wasted no time grabbing or even looking at the dinner tray that appeared in front of her. Instead, she leaned in close to the blond and began immediately whispering.

"Harry _bloody _Potter just came up and talked to me while I was on my way here," she hissed. And then, "Harry Potter. Can you believe it?"

"What?" asked Draco, quite confused. He resisted the urge to glance over at the Gryffindor House table. "Potter?"

"That's right. The right git went and asked me if he could _talk_ to me. Said he just wanted to ask me a few questions or some rubbish like that."

"Questions?" Frowning, Draco thought back to the day before. Hadn't Potter tried to confront him about something during Potions? "I wonder why..."

"Does he think I'm daft? I wasn't going to go off to some secluded corner with him." She leaned closer still. "Everyone in this school hates us. For all I know he could've had his group of friends lurking around somewhere, waiting to beat on me. You know, like Millicent and all them."

"Er..right." Draco wasn't really convinced that Potter would've beat up on Pansy, or that he would've had someone else beat up on her. Still, he had to admit that it was more than a little weird. Why in the world was that scar-head asking them questions, butting into their business?

It was odd. Very odd.

"Harry _Potter_," Pansy said again. "I can't..." She trailed off. Draco shot her a questioning look; her eyes, however, were no longer on him. She was looking at the rest of the Slytherin table.

Though the two of them had been speaking at a low volume, everyone seemed to be sneaking glances at them. Some of them were sneering, others snickering. Even as they watched one fourth year Slytherin whispered something to his neighbor, causing the both of them to break out in laughter while they pointed at the two traitors.

Draco suddenly wanted to leave. This was more attention than they usually got from their house mates at meals, and it was making his skin crawl. Maybe they were just playing games. Or maybe the blond was in for another date with Blaise and his fist.

"I'm going," Pansy said, and the spark of life that had come into her again when she was explaining what had happened with Potter was suddenly gone.

She and Draco stood at the same time. They ignored the insults and howls and laughter being aimed their way and left the Hall.

When they were standing in the Entrance Hall, next to the marble staircase that led up and away to the rest of the castle, Draco let out a deep breath he hadn't even been aware of holding.

And then a large hand came from behind; latched onto his forearm.

"Malfoy," the owner of the hand said. "I _really _need to talk to you."

-----

Draco jerked away from the hand gripping his forearm and spun, breathing hard. "Weasley! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Ron's eyes widened. "Er...," he started, but was cut off before he could say anything useful.

"Don't _touch_ me."

Ron raised his arms in an 'I surrender' gesture, surprised at the blond's violent reaction. Sure, he hadn't exactly been expecting sunshine and roses - he had almost _kissed _the guy. But this was a little overboard, in his opinion. "Okay, okay," he said, watching in amazement as the Slytherin glared daggers at him and backed away a few steps. "Sorry. Can I just..." He trailed off and shot a nervous look at Pansy, who was standing next to Draco and looking at the two of them in a way that suggested she was pretty sure they had both gone loony. "Can I talk to you _alone_, Malfoy?"

At this, Pansy let out a surprised gasp and stepped slowly away. Draco shot a look at her. "Where are you going?"

"You're not _pushing _me at him again so that you can have time to get away." Pansy eyed the tall Gryffindor before adding, "If this is who Potter sent to beat you up then _you_ deal with him." She turned away and started for the stairway that led down into the dungeons. "I can't believe this," she muttered quite loudly - but she didn't seem to be talking to anybody in particular. "Now I have to worry about Granger attacking me, too."

"What?" Ron watched, confused, as the girl disappeared from view. Hermione was beating up on Pansy? That didn't make any sense. And Pansy thought _he _was going to beat up Malfoy? _Huh_.

The redhead turned to Draco in search of some sort of explanation, but was met with the sight of a very baffled looking Slytherin. The blond was blinking stupidly at the spot where his fellow Slytherin had been standing a few moments before.

Deciding to ask about what Pansy had said at a later time, Ron plowed ahead. "Listen. I..." And now that he had Malfoy with him, now that the other boy was standing still in listening distance and not punching him or glaring at him or running away very quickly he couldn't get the words out. Couldn't even figure out which words _needed _to get out.

What was he supposed to say? What could he possibly say that would justify what had happened?

"Iwasthinkingabouthermione," he said in a rush, when he saw that the blond had stopped blinking dumbly at the spot Pansy had vacated and was now staring at him with narrowed eyes.

"Wait." The Slytherin looked like he was part curious, part incredibly angry at the redhead in front of him. "What did you just say?"

"When, uh..." Ron started, but then took a deep breath to steady himself. "I was thinking about Hermione. When, you know, when I did that to you."

Malfoy's eyes widened. "_Granger?_" spat Draco, looking suddenly furious. "Are you _serious_? I look nothing _like_ that bucktoothed-"

Ron decided to cut him off before he deserved a punch in the nose or something. "I didn't say you looked like her, Malfoy. I said I just happened to be thinking about her when it happened." When the blond looked like he was going to open his mouth to bellow something unpleasant again Ron grabbed at his arm and pulled him behind a nearby statue of a hunchbacked wizard. That way, at least, they wouldn't be out in the open - in the perfect position for anyone leaving dinner to see.

He was surprised when Draco screeched and wrenched his arm away. "I said don't _touch_ me." He was breathing fast now, and his eyes looked wild. "Did you not _understand_ the first time or something? Don't -"

"I get it," Ron said quickly. He was a little concerned for the Slytherin. The blond looked absolutely terrified. He held up his hands again before slowly bringing them down and stuffing them into his pockets. "Sorry. I didn't think. I wasn't thinking."

Draco eyed him wearily. "You know," he said once his breathing had calmed down, "I shouldn't even allow you to talk to me anymore. This right now? It's a _privilege_. How could you...I mean, you-"

"I know what I did." Ron looked down at his feet, trying to get his thoughts in order. "I'm sorry. I was just...I guess it was just everything that happened with Harry and Herm, and you were just _there_..." He trailed off, wondering what else he should say. "If you'd like you can punch me in the stomach and we'll call it even," he offered finally.

Draco looked at him thoughtfully. "Just forget it, Weasel. This...whatever we were doing before. Sitting next to each other in class and getting locked in closets together? Maybe it's good that you did what you did." His face flushed a little and he hurriedly added, "I mean, so that we could put a stop to being friendly and civil and all that. It isn't _natural_."

"Fine," said Ron, feeling rather disappointed and not knowing why. What was _wrong_ with him lately? "So then we'll just go our separate ways." He felt really stupid, saying that. Like they had been the best of friends or something. Right.

"Right," the blond agreed, finally looking up and meeting Ron's eyes. "Just give me back my wand and then we'll go our _separate ways_." He snorted.

"Wand?" For a moment, Ron had no idea what Draco was talking about. And then he remembered. After Ron had stupidly leaned in to kiss him the Slytherin had stormed off, leaving his broken wand behind on the bench. Ron, though, hadn't thought to take the wand with him when he'd left the Quidditch Pitch, embarrassed and angry at himself, for Gryffindor Tower. Malfoy must have just assumed that he had grabbed the wand. "Er..." he began, about to say that he'd left the thing on the Slytherin stands. He hesitated. "I don't have it with me right now," he said instead.

_Why in the bloody hell did I say _that?

"Well," said the blond, sounding annoyed. "When can you give it to me? I need it for classes."

"Tomorrow morning," answered Ron. "I'll meet you here before classes."

"Tomorrow morning?"

Ron nodded, clenching his hands into fists within the confines of his pockets.

"I guess that'll do," Draco allowed, and the Gryffindor carefully ignored the way he brought up slim fingers to brush the tendrils of soft platinum hair away from his eyes, the way he bit at his lower lip with perfectly straight teeth.

Ron's stomach seemed to be twisting suddenly; he felt ill. Why in the hell had he promised Draco his wand back when he didn't even _have _the stupid thing? Again, he wondered what was wrong with him. Because, honestly, there had to be something wrong with him. "Okay," he said, not knowing what else to say.

Malfoy nodded; turned to go. And then the Slytherin stopped and spun to face Ron again, as if he'd abruptly changed his mind about something. "_Even_," he said, and Ron's mind was still working that out when Draco punched him in the arm. Punched him _hard_.

Draco sneered and walked away.

"Stupid Ferret," Ron said, once the blond was out of sight. "I said _stomach_!"

Rubbing at his throbbing arm he dodged around the wizard statue and headed up the marble stairs, towards his House.


	9. Eight

**AN: **Due to serious real life problems I haven't had a chance to work on/update this fic for nearly a year (I apologize to those who were keeping track of this story). But now my schedule has cleared up considerably and I'm not giving up on FFG just yet. Here's chapter eight.

EIGHT:

"Venomous," said Draco. He watched as the stretch of stone wall slid aside, creaking and groaning in a familiar fashion before revealing the Slytherin common room.

He stepped through the entrance and headed directly up the stairs to his dorm.

The room was deserted; all of the other seventh year Slytherins were still at dinner in the Great Hall. Draco fell back onto his bed. Leaning comfortably against the plump, bright green pillows he stared straight ahead, eyes wide. But he wasn't seeing the room around him. Instead, his mind was fixed on Ron.

If he were to be truthful about it the blond would have to admit that he wasn't nearly as angry at the Weasel as he should have been. Normally, Draco found himself to be an intimidating and vengeful person (this was something he had always been rather proud of). So it was hard for him to wrap his head around the idea of not being terribly furious at someone who had wronged him.

And Ron _had _certainly wronged him. The redhead had actually had the nerve to try and kiss him.

_Kiss me_. Draco shifted around in the bed, adjusting a pillow that was digging painfully into his back.

In the end, the Gryffindor hadn't actually kissed him. It had been a close thing; incredibly close. But there hadn't been any actual _contact_.

Surprisingly, the blond found himself realizing that he wouldn't have been much angrier if the kiss _had_ happened. He wasn't sure exactly why that was, and he didn't particularly want to think about it.

Another thing that Draco didn't want to think about was Hermione. Or, more precisely, he didn't want to think about the fact that _Weasley _had been thinking about her when...

"Ugh! Bloody _hell_." The blond rolled so that he was resting on his stomach in the bed, then buried his face in a pillow. What was he _doing_? He wasn't supposed to be thinking about the Weasel; didn't _want _to be thinking about him.

All he wanted was his wand back.

The sudden sound of someone - obviously someone wearing heeled shoes - charging into the common room below made Draco jump. Digging his fingernails into the bedclothes beneath him Draco lifted only his head and turned, straining his neck in order to get a look at the dorm room's doorway.

"Draco!" came a high pitched screech. "Draco!"

Before the second shout sounded Draco had registered the fact that it was Pansy who was screaming. He rolled off of his bed, rushed through the doorway, and sprinted down the stone steps.

"What?" he demanded immediately upon reaching the common room. He was breathing hard; adrenaline and fear were forcing his heart to beat out a rhythm that was much too fast to be healthy. "What is it?"

The girl was panting. Her eyes had a wild glint to them and her ponytail looked slightly lopsided. She was obviously wired about something, but Draco could see no visible clues as to what it was. There were no fresh bruises marring her arms and neck, nor was there any other sort of fresh injury suggesting that the Slytherin girl had had another run in with Millicent.

"Pansy?" he asked again.

"You'll never believe it," gasped the girl. Her startled look seemed to be morphing; there was the hint of a smile beginning to form. "_I _don't believe it." She looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time, then stumbled awkwardly over to the couch. She sat down heavily.

"Pansy?" Draco tried again. "What the bloody _fuck _is it?" He was still standing at the bottom of the spiraling staircase that led up to his room, looking stunned.

There was a pause. A pause during which Draco had the time to get nervous; had the time to feel the unpleasant twisting in his gut that was telling him something was very, very wrong.

And then, finally, Pansy answered.

"Some of the Slytherins, Draco." She looked up, her dark eyes meeting the blond's lighter ones. Draco couldn't help but think that she looked different somehow; she looked _off_. "They came and talked to me..."

-----

Ron hurried down the large, stone steps that led into the castle and winced at the sound of the heavy entrance doors banging shut behind him. It wasn't past curfew just yet - there were still a few kids milling about the castle halls and lounging outside of their Houses - but it was dark already, and close enough to being curfew that he would doubtless receive no less than a lecture should a professor or Filch spot him hurrying outside.

Once again, the redhead wondered why he had told Malfoy he had his wand. It was stupid, really. It didn't make any sense. And now he had to trudge all the way down to the Quidditch Pitch and crawl about the stands until he found the Slytherin's wand. And that brought up another problem - what if he _wasn't _able to find the thing? If that happened he would have to face the blond's wrath for losing the wand, or would have to admit that he'd lied about having the item in the first place.

Bloody _hell_. He had a serious talent for getting himself into awkward situations.

The Gryffindor's long legs carried him swiftly across the school grounds and toward the Pitch. As he walked, he pulled and tugged at his winter cloak nervously. He had a strange feeling. And after having been friends with one Harry Potter for over six years Ron had come to the conclusion that he absolutely _hated _strange feelings. He wished he'd had the forethought to ask Harry for his invisibility cloak.

Then again, asking Harry for the cloak would've meant both he and Hermione knowing about Ron's odd mission. The two other seventh years were being incredibly nice to him, trying to make up for not telling the redhead about their relationship - even so, Ron didn't think they'd have looked too kindly at the fact that their freckled friend was retrieving Malfoy's wand because he'd practically _kissed _the Slytherin and was the one who had been responsible for the blond losing the wand in the first place. So, yeah, maybe it was best he hadn't asked after all.

Ron's fingers and face were numb from the chill air by the time he reached the Slytherin stands. He immediately began searching. He checked all of the lower stands thoroughly (he was _sure _they'd been sitting on one of the lower stands when Malfoy had stormed off), and when he didn't find the wand right away searched higher, and higher. He was near the top of the Slytherin stands, on his knees and searching carefully with his fingers, when he happened to spot it- the thin, black bit of wood was far below him, lying in the dirt. It had fallen from the lower stand where he and the blond had been sitting and onto the ground.

With a sigh of relief Ron hurried down the stands, and then made his way across the grass and under them. He had Malfoy's wand and was stuffing it into a pocket when he heard voices. The voices were low, murmuring, and steadily getting closer. Afraid that a professor had perhaps made his or her way to the Quidditch Pitch Ron backed further into the shadows and tried to quiet his breathing.

He waited, and no more than a few brief moments had gone by when four shadowy figures appeared as if from nowhere, wearing black, billowing cloaks and striding quickly across the limp and yellowed grass that made up the Quidditch field.

"...is the _perfect _plan," said the slimmest of the four. This figure was swinging a half empty bottle of butterbeer in one hand, and when he turned just _so _the moonlight and stars conveniently illuminated his face. Ron recognized the face - this was Blaise Zabini he was looking at.

Nervous, the redhead swallowed thickly and listened.

"Yeah," said one of Zabini's similarly clad companions - the tallest one. Ron thought that this figure looked a lot like the sixth year Slytherin that Blaise treated as his second in command, but couldn't be sure. "Tell her just what she wants to hear and then..." He trailed off and the two slow, thick-limbed lumps crowding Zabini let out stupid guffaws.

The Gryffindor was _positive _that these last two prats were Crabbe and Goyle.

Smiling, Zabini took a swig of butterbeer and wiped away the drops that escaped his mouth with the back of his hand. "That's right. Thanks to my _fucking fantastic _plan that pug-faced bitch will get what's comin' to her."

Zabini's little speech caused his three companions to erupt into a chorus of laughter and mutterings of "I never did like the look of her" and "she did tag along with _him_."

Blaise cut in before the laughter could die down. "Pleasant as this will be...let's not forget the reason we're doing it." There was a sudden silence then, tense and cold and thick. Ron tried very hard not to shuffle his feet, or to breathe too loudly. The foursome was passing by him now, and would soon be out of sight.

After a moment, the lead Slytherin continued. "As soon as we have her out of the way we can concentrate on..." but the group of cloaked figures turned a corner and left the Quidditch field before Zabini could finish his sentence.

None of them had noticed Ron Weasley, huddled in the shadows of the Slytherin stands.

The redhead blinked, let out a breath he hadn't even been aware of holding, and counted to one hundred before stumbling out from under the stands and heading back to the castle.

-----

The next day, which was Wednesday, brought rain. Ron woke to the sounds of Harry, Seamus and Dean shuffling around the dorm, gathering clothes and heading for the showers. He could also hear Neville, still softly snoring in his bed. He yawned, stretched, and blinked blearily at the window.

Through the window he could make out a gray, cloud filled sky and a thick sheet of falling rain. Feeling drowsy and heavy limbed, the redhead got out of bed and gathered his own clothes; he nudged Neville awake on his way to the showers. He had no time to waste today. He had to meet Malfoy, scarf down breakfast, _and _finish up the last few paragraphs of his essay on the usefulness of charms.

Ron got ready quickly and left the Gryffindor Tower.

The redhead spotted Malfoy before he had even fully descended the marble staircase that led directly to the entrance hall. The Slytherin was standing to the right of the large doorway that led into the Great Hall. He had his arms folded against his chest, was leaning against the wall, and was shooting hostile looks at any student dimwitted enough to glance at him on their way to breakfast.

"Weasley," he spat when he noticed Ron approaching. "It's about _time_. Have you got it with you or not?" His expression clearly said that the Gryffindor not having the item in question was definitely not an option.

"Yeah," said Ron. "I've got it." He stuck his hands into the pockets of his robe, and fished for Malfoy's wand. The blond glared half heartedly at a passing Hufflepuff while he waited.

Ron found the wand's handle and gripped it - but he didn't pull it from his pocket. "I..." he started, only to stop when Malfoy's intense eyes met his own. The strange conversation he'd witnessed between Blaise and his gang had just sprung to the front of his mind, but the redhead wasn't completely sure if he should tell the Slytherin about it or not.

He was supposed to be breaking all ties with Malfoy, right? In fact, he _hadn't _wanted anything to do with Malfoy in the first place. So why should he bother telling the teen what he'd heard - especially considering the fact that Malfoy was already well aware of Blaise's hostility toward he and Pansy?

"Don't tell me you've forgotten it," hissed the blond. "Don't you _dare-_"

But before he could really get going the Gryffindor cut him off.

"I overheard Zabini last night," he said quickly.

Malfoy blinked. "What?"

"Zabini and his grunts," said Ron. He was carefully _not_ mentioning anything about being at the Quidditch Pitch searching for the Slytherin's wand. "You said he was the prat bothering you and Parkinson, right?"

The blond gave a slow, hesitant nod - it was as if he didn't _want_ to be interested in what Ron was saying but couldn't help himself.

"He and his friends mentioned something about Parkinson," continued Ron. And the redhead was caught off guard when Malfoy took some frantic steps forward; he was suddenly so close that the Gryffindor could smell his floral shampoo.

"He mentioned Pansy?" spat the blond. "What? What did he say about her?"

And suddenly Ron had a strange feeling; he had a feeling like he was missing something very important. "He mentioned her," he answered. "Why? Did something-"

"Tell me," demanded Malfoy. He wasn't quite shouting, but he certainly wasn't calm. "Tell me what he said."

Ron narrowed his eyes. "Something about telling her what she wants to hear, I think. Zabini didn't mention a name but..." He shrugged awkwardly and shied away from telling the Slytherin exactly what Zabini and his thugs had called Parkinson. "Well, I'm pretty sure they were talking about her."

"I _knew _it!" This time it was a yell. Ron took a step back from the other teen in surprise. Malfoy's face was suddenly very red – he brought his hands to his hair, dug his fingers in and _pulled_. Ron resisted the strange urge to stop the blond from hurting himself; instead watched what was happening in front of him with round, startled eyes.

"I _knew _those complete _bastards _were up to something!" A strange noise emerged from the blond's throat – something that sounded like a frustrated growl – and then he began to pace. He walked until he reached the first marble step rising up and away from the entrance hall; spun around and walked until he was in front of the Gryffindor once more.

"What's wrong?" asked Ron. Malfoy was already on his second trip back from the edge of the stairs – he bumped shoulders with an abnormally tall fourth year who was on her way to breakfast and didn't seem to notice the glare she shot at him. "What do you mean-"

"Wait." Malfoy put a hand up and thrust it in Ron's direction; it was as if he thought doing this would somehow _physically_ stop the words that were emerging from the redhead's mouth – or perhaps that it would push the words already spoken back down the redhead's throat. "Wait. You said before, when we were...uh."

Ron noticed that Malfoy was no longer pacing, so leaned against the stone wall. Anything that caused Malfoy to falter while speaking was probably a very bad subject to have brought up in the first place.

"Monday night. You weren't even sure who Blaise _was. _So how are you sure who you heard talking was Zabini? And – while we're on the subject – _how _did you overhear him? I mean..._where_?"

And there it was – the unpleasant reason for the falter. Monday night. Monday night just before the not-kiss he and Malfoy had been talking civilly about the Slytherin's broken wand, about Quidditch, about Blaise Zabini.

"I'm not an imbecile, Malfoy," he answered. He was suddenly frustrated; angry for a reason he couldn't pinpoint. Maybe it was just because he was here, talking to Malfoy like he really gave a rat's arse about Zabini and what he and his goons were planning to do to Parkinson. Maybe it was because he just wanted to get to _breakfast_ already; wanted to finish his charms homework on time so that he wouldn't get another detention. Or maybe the reason he was suddenly angry was because Malfoy had actually faltered in his speech – had acted utterly _disgusted –_ at the mere memory of Ron's attempt to kiss him.

But...no. That was ridiculous. Ron himself hadn't really even meant to try and kiss the blond. _He _was disgusted with the idea of it himself. So being upset and mad about what Malfoy felt about it didn't make any sense at all.

None.

"He was _with _those prats, Crabbe and Goyle. It was him. I _know _it was Zabini." The redhead carefully avoided answering the Slytherin's other questions. Malfoy, after all, didn't really need to know where exactly he had overheard Zabini talking or what exactly he had been doing at the time.

"_Bloody hell!_" the blond shouted, sudden and sharp. A small group of very young looking students that were sporting Ravenclaw colors on their uniforms turned to look in the direction of the commotion – the moment they realized who it was they were staring at (Draco Malfoy, two _seventh _years) they hurried up the stairs and away, white-faced.

"Bloody _fucking _hell!" Again, Malfoy dug his fingers into his hair and pulled. His face had become red, his eyes watery, his whole frame taut and strained.

Ron shot a look around the entrance hall. It was empty. No one had seen the Gryffindor standing next to the crazy blond teenager having a breakdown yet. And no one _would _see the redhead with the Slytherin if he just quietly slipped away.

Right. Not likely.

Sure, it was true that Ron loathed all Slytherins; he loathed the Slytherin standing in front of him most of all - or at least he _had _seriously loathed him before Malfoy's mother had decided to go traitor on Voldemort. And sure, he had never been the most polite guy. But he wasn't flat out _cruel_. He wasn't just going to leave Malfoy standing alone in the hallway, upset and near tears. He was after all, the one who had brought up the subject of Zabini - the subject that was disturbing Malfoy so much - in the first place.

Just as the blond was about turn away - presumably to start up his pacing again - Ron grabbed the teen by the arm and held on. "What's wrong with you? Did something happen?" The Gryffindor thought back to Halloween night in the closet - Malfoy had been pushed into the closet by Zabini after getting the crud kicked out of him Maybe something like that had happened again? Maybe that's what had the teen acting so strange and upset?

Malfoy looked up at him, eyes wide yet distant. He looked worried; dreadfully worried about something. Ron felt an odd stirring in his chest at the thought of the blond being so upset; he carefully ignored it.

"It's Pansy," he started - and his voice was quiet and halting. "She...they _told _her, Zabini and the others in my House _told _her that they wanted her to play Quidditch."

Ron blinked, confused. For a moment he couldn't figure out what the teen was going on about. What in the world did Pansy playing Quidditch have anything to do with anything? And then, suddenly, he remembered something.

_"I'm not going to play this year...I can't..." _The night they had nearly kissed (and just that thought made Ron squirm inside) Malfoy had mentioned something about not being able to play Quidditch this year. And now that Ron thought about it, well, it made perfect sense. Malfoy couldn't play on the Slytherin Quidditch team because the rest of the Slytherins hated him - they most likely wouldn't have let him play on the team if he'd tried in the first place, and if he had by some miracle been allowed to play he would have been destroyed by his own team. And now Zabini was encouraging _Pansy _to play the game. So that meant...

"I _tried _to tell her," Malfoy went on. "I told her that the bastards were probably just playing some horrid trick. I told her to just _ignore _what they had said, to stay away from them all. But...she was so excited about it. And she won't _listen_ to me anymore. Maybe before, but after...she doesn't _listen_." The blond shook his head, looking down at the floor as he spoke - as if he were somehow defeated. "And now you've told me _this_..."

And at that, the Slytherin looked up at Ron. The distant look in his eyes had suddenly faded. Now, he simply looked angry. His eyes narrow, he wrenched his arm from the redhead's grip. "And why in _hell _am I telling _you _about this? _You_." He gave a short, disgusted sort of laugh. "A Gryffindor. The _Weasel_. Like you care at all. Like I _care _if you care at all." He stuck out one of his hands, palm up. "My wand please, Weasley."

Ron shoved a hand into his pocket once more; folded his large fingers around the wand there. His tongue seemed to be caught behind his teeth for some reason. He wasn't sure why. Everything the Slytherin had said, talking to him and about him like that...

Ron should have been yelling, raving, kicking the blond's arse right about now. His usually short temper should have been raging. And yet another, small part of the Gryffindor still wanted to help the teen out. The Gryffindor felt a little _bad _for the blond. Torn between these two feelings, the redhead said nothing at all. He just pulled the spell-o-taped wand from his pocket and handed it to the Slytherin.

"All right, then," said Malfoy. He grabbed the wand and gave Ron a slow, appraising look. It was as if he were trying to figure out why the Gryffindor hadn't yelled, or maybe why the Gryffindor hadn't just slugged him one. "We're done now, right?"

Done. Ron thought about his encounter with a puffy-eyed Malfoy on the first day of school, thought about Halloween night locked in a closet, about that night at the Quidditch Pitch and the strange feelings that had made his stomach flutter, the strange feelings that had forced him to lean toward the blond Slytherin and...

"Right." Face blank, the redhead nodded. "Done."

Ron watched as Malfoy, who was still very obviously upset and worried and tense, spun around.

He watched as Malfoy walked away.


End file.
